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MARY, MOTHER OF WASHINGTON. 



ROSA, 



THE EDUCATING MOTHER, 



'^i\\\t\\ \n %t^\^x% and \m\^ %^^^^P^ 4 %^^* 




Prof. H. M. Cottinger, A. M., 



Author of '^ Method of Teaching in High Schools of Switzerland" ''^ Mediieval 

Plays of Jacob Rueff" "Guide for Sunday-schools of free German 

Congregations," "Elements of Universal Histo?y" etc. 



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"And his (man's) house grows apace; 
And o'er it is ruling 
The housewife so modest, 
His children's dear mother; 
And wisely she governs 
The circle of home. 
The maidens she trains, 
And he Ijoys she restrains; 
Keeps plying forever 
Her hanfls that flag neve ■. 

— Schiller. 




SAN JOSE, CAL.: 
Ptablislned. t)v tin© Author. 

i387. 



o 






Entered IccorJiiig to let of Eougress, in the Year 188Z, by 

IE the Dice of llie Lilirariaii of Congress, at WasniEton. D, C. 









TO 
THE MEMORY OF 



HIS FAITHFUL WIFE, THE LOVIN(; ^[OTIIER 
OF HIS CHILDREN, 

THIS VOI.UIVIE 

IS 
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



L?)PRKKAC K^ 



ACCOllDINGr to the advice of Ephraim Lessiug, the preface 
of a book ought to contain nothing liut the history of its 
origin. Congraently to this atlvice I have to state the fol- 
lowing concerning my book: — 

Its groundwork was already laid in 1824, when I was a stu- 
dent in the University of Vienna. I made, at that time, an ex- 
tract from the text-book of the University used for instruction 
in pedagogic science. Two years later I read the writings of H. 
Pestalozzi and J. Paul lUchter, and besides J. J. llousseau's 
"Emilo," the most celebrated work written on education; I 
also made excerpts from the latter work. In 1838 I composed 
a complete pedagogic theor}"^, and offered my manuscript to a 
bookseller in Ziirich, Switzerland, where I was then a teacher. 
After having examined it he refused to print it. After that I 
made an extract of it, condensing its practical parts into a sys- 
tem, and shut the new volume up in my desk. Since 1860, while 
living in the United States, I read the educational writings of 
Herbert Spencer, Baines, Locke, Horace Mann, and others, and 
compared them with my manuscript. In 1884 I went on a journey 
to my old country, and found, in the public library of Zurich, Salz- 
mann's famous book, "The Crab's Grait" ("das Krebs bilchlein") 
which I copied, for it was not to be had in the book-stores. 
Though it was written in the last century, it contains a treasure 
of educational wisdom; therefore, I added its greater part to my 
manuscripts. Salzmann was a prominent author of pedagogic 
\\Titings, and director of the great Orphan Asylum in Halle, 
Prussia. 

The first part of my book, inscribed "Model Mothers," was 
written in 1SS5, aftjr my return from Europe. Its composition 
was a difficult task. I scrutinized a humlred or more biogra- 
phies, but the mothers of their heroes and heroines were either 
passed by with sileaca, or only mentioned in a few lines. With 



VI Preface. 

3ome readers the few I selected will not j)ass as models, for what 
hiimaii creature is free from every flaw? Has not even the sun 
its dark spots ? Take a fine lace veil ■ of Brussels, it appears to 
the eye to be an entirely symmetrical network; but if you exam- 
ine it with the microscope, you find it full of crooks and irregu- 
lai'ities. That's human work. Alas ! the German dean, Dinter, 
is right, when he says:— 

" Besser machen, besser werden: 
Das ist unser Loos auf Erden." 

(To make it better, to grow better: that's our lot on earth.) 

In this way the present volume originated. I wrote it for 
mothers and young ladies of age, because such books, purposely 
composed for them, are an exception to the rule, most of peda- 
gogic works being written for teachers, scholars, or men in gen- 
eral. In order to make it more palatable to the fair sex, I com- 
posed it ifl the form of a correspondence, putting the principles 
of education into the moutli of a mother. My wife was the 
model for my letters. In every letter I asked myself if she 
would have sj)oken or written that way. If, nevertheless, I 
missed the true womanly style, the ladies may pardon my as- 
sumption. True, Shakespeare delii^ated the characters of his 
heroines in an accomplished style, yet in accordance with nature; 
but I am no Shakespeare. I added to every letter illustrations 
by examples which bear a similar relation to the letters, like the 
positive of a photograph to its negative, or like practice to the- 
ory. 

In conclusion, I offer my heart-felt thanks to the ladies and 
gentlemen who have kindly reviewed and corrected my MSS., 
viz.: Mrs. Nellie Eyster, authoress and teacher; Misses Jessica 
Thomson, Myrtie Hudson, and Glora Bennett, teachers of the 
Normal School of California; Misses Belle Bird and Caroline 
Schilling, public teachers ; Mr. W. Childs, Professor of the Nor- 
mal School of California, and Mr. E. A. Clark, M. D. ; finally t > 
Mr. W. Itedding and Miss Agnes Barry, public librarians of San 
Jos6, who kindly furnished me all the books necessary for the 

composition of this volume. 

The Author. 
San Jos6, California, 1887. 






CONTENTS. 




^^^S^o 



Dedication 3 

Preface 5 

PART THE FIRST— THE MODEL MOTHER. 

Introduction 15 

Mary Washington, Mother of President G. Waslungton ... 17 
Mrs. Elizaljeth Gary, Mother of the Poetesses Alice and 

Phoebe Gary 28 

Cornelia, ^lother of the Two Brothers Gracchi 33 

The Mothers of Goethe and Schiller, the Two Greatest Ger- 
man Poets 37 

Frederic Schiller's Mother 41 

The Mother of the French Poet, Francis Copp^e 42 

Mrs. James W. White 44 

Socrates and Lis Sou. A Dialogue on the Merits of Mothers. 48 

Letitia Bonaparte, Mother of Emperor Napoleon 1 53 

Mrs. Nancy Lincoln, jNIother of President Abraham Lincoln. 59 

Volumnia, Mother of Coriolanus CI 

Hedwig, Mother of the Children of William Tell 67 

The Mother of Joseph Haydn, the Celebrated German Com- 
poser 72 

Sophie Hug ', Mother of Victor Hugo, the Greatest Freucli 

Poet in our Century 74 

The Duchess of Kent, Mother of Queen Victoria of England. 85 

Armgart, a Poor Mother with Several Children 88 

Katharine Bora, Mother of Martin Luther's Children 91 

Rosina King, ^lother of the Aiithor 93 

Rosa I^.Iillcr, ISIother of the Author's Children 9G 



viii Contents. 

PAET THE SECOND— ROSA'S LETTERS 
ON ]i:DUCATION. 

laKST .SKRIES. 

Culture of the Body 103 

FiKST Letter. — Occasion and Contents of the Letters 103 

Second Lettek. — Notion and Design of Education. Qual- 
ities of the Ediicating Mother. Literature on Education. 104 

Illustrations. — Two Sad Cases of Careless Mothers 1 07 

A Loving Mother lOS 

How a Mother Sympathizes with Her Wayward Son. . . . 110 

Third Letter. — Means of Physical Culture. Air, Water, 
Washing and Bathing, Light and Warmth, Clothing and 

Bedding 113 

Illustrations. — Mrs. Eve 116 

Her Sister , 116 

A Reasonable Physician 117 

FocTRTii Letter. ^ — Continuation, Nourishment, Suckling of 

the Child. A Plan of Diet for Children 117 

Illustration. — Mr. Flabby 119 

FiFTU Letter. — Conclusion, Motion, Rocking in the Cra- 
dle, Plays, Gymnastic Ikercises, Rest 120 

Sixth Letter. — Epoch of De\'elopment of Crirls 122 

Illustration. — What Dr. Clarke Reports about a School- 
girl Fifteen Years Old. 124 

Seventh Letter. — Therapeutics of the Body, Thrushes of 
Children, Teething, Healing of Pampering, General Re- 
marks 126 

Illustrations. — The Miracle-worker 128 

The Quack 129 

The Poisoned Child 131 

second series— intellectual culture. 

Eighth Letter. — Summary of the Series, Culture of the 

Intuitive Faculty, Images 132 

Illustrations. — The Rose. A Dialogue., 134 

Pity. A Dialogue 136 

Ninth Letter. — Culture of Intellect Proper, Toys 138 

Illustuations. — The Watch. A Dialogue 139 

The Way to Make Children Stupid 142 



Contents. ix 

Tenth Letter. — Religious Instruction liS 

Illustrations. — The First Apple Tree. A Dialogue 145 

The Zealous Mrs. Elizabeth 147 

The Wihlouspuch Tragedy 148 

The Templar and the Patriarch of Jerusalem, from Les- 

sing's " Nathan the Wise " 14'J 

The Fanatic, Mrs. Fanny Smith 151 

The Swallow Nest 153 

" The Mother Is Dead" 154 

Eleventh Letter. — ^Esthetical llefinement 154 

Illustration. — Little INIat 157 

Twelfth Letter. — Culture of Memory. Instruction in the 

Native Language 159 

Supplement. — How IJosa and Henry learned to read .... . 161 

Images 162 

Composition of the Letters 163 

Thirteenth Letter. — The Kindergarten 165 

Supplement. — An Outline of Froebel's Kinderga;rten 167 

THIRD SERIES. 

Moral Culture 174 

SECTION FIRST. 

Moral Culture in Cleneral 174 

Fourteenth Letter. — Preliminary Notions, Essence of 
Reason and Mind, Difference Between Right and Legality, 
Morality and Manners, Reason and Intellect, Emotion and 

Sensation 174 

Illustrations. — The Good Samaritan 177 

Princess Paulina Schwarzenberg 177 

Fifteenth Letter. — Means of Moral Culture ... 178 

First: Instruction 178 

Illustration. — Benevolence Towards Enemies. A Dialogue 180 

Sixteenth Letter. — Continuation 181 

Illustration. — War. A Dialogue 183 

Seventeenth Letter. — Conclusion 184 

Illustrations. — Honesty is the Best Policy. A Dialogue . 186 

Telemachus, from Fenelon 1S8 

EitiiiTEENTii Letter. — The Example of the Parents, Broth- 
era and Sisters, and Companions of Youth WO 



X Contents. 

Illustrations, — The Cruel Kilian 194 

Little Anilrew 195 

Beatrice Cenci, from P. B. Shelby's Tragedy " The Cenci" 195 
Nineteenth Letter. — Heading, Narrations, History, Bibli- 
cal History, Fables, Plays, Piomauces 201 

Illustration. — Wliat I Liked to Piead 203 

Twentieth Letter. — Consequences of Actions 205 

Illustrations. — The Yoiing Spendthrift 20G 

Pet Morgan 207 

Twenty-first Letter. — Conclusion, Recompenses and Pun- 
ishments 208 

Illustrations. — The Disobedient Christina 212 

Punish Your Children if They Tell the Truth in Order to 

Make Them Liars , 213 

Twenty-second Letter. — Ignorance, Juvenile Plays 214 

Illustration. — Auntie Rosemary 216 

Twenty-third Letter. — Therapeutics of Moral Failings — 

The Vice of Onanism 217 

Illustration. — The Fashionable Young Lady 221 

section second. 

Cultivation of Some Single Features of Character 223 

Twenty- fourth Letter. — Cheerfulness of Mind. Thought- 
lessness 2£3 

Illustrations. — A Precious Couple of Parents 225 

Little Gustavus 226 

Twenty-fifth Letter. — Diligence, Laziness, Some Remarks 
on Teachers and Public Schools 227 

Illustrations. — The Treasure-digger 231 

Means for Making Children Loth to Well-doing. . 232 

A Plea for Children. A Dialogue 233 

How to Develop in Children a Taste for Idleness 234 

Teachers Are also Men 235 

Twenty-sixth Letter. — Thrift and Fnigality, Cravingness, 
Avarice and Prodigality of Children, Love of Order and 
Cleanliness, Vanity 236 

iLLUSTR.vrioNS. — How to Make Children Fond of Dainties. . 23S 

Mr. Anthony 239 

The Vainglorious Ernestine 240 



Contexts. xi 

TwENTY-SEVEXTii LETTER. — General Respect for Mankind, 

Regard for the Property of Others . 242 

Filching, Veracity, Lying, Patriotism 242 

Illustkation.s. — The Maid-servants and their Mistress. . . . 245 
How to Teach Children to Lie, Order Them to Lie Betime 246 
Laugh at the Lies of Your Children and Recompense Them 

if They Lie 248 

A Model of Conventional Lies 248 

The Sick Grandmother and Little Rodolph 249 

The Twentieth Century 250 

The Rich and Poor 252 

Aljraham Lincoln 254 

Twenty-Eighth Letter. — Filial Love, Gratitude, Obe- 
dience, Disobedience, Irritability, Willfulness and 

Defiance — On the Screaming of Children , . 255 

Illustrations. — "N^'rong Your Children and They Will Hate 

You 259 

How to Teach Children Disobedience. . . 261 

Moralize Frequently Avith Children 262 

How to Render Children Willful 263 

Tony, the Spoiled Child 264 

The Ungrateful Child 267 

How a Brother Becomes a Father 267 

Twenty-ninth Letter. — Sexual Love. Choice of a Spouse 269 
Illustrations. — Margaret. From Goethe's "Faust "'.. . . 271 
The Betrothment. From Goethe's " Herman and Doro- 
thea " 277 

The AVedding Day. From H. Longfellow's poem " Miles 

Standish " 282 

Thirtieth Letter. — On the Choice of a Calling 283 

Illustrations. — The Insane Priest 285 

How He Found His Calling 286 

Conclusion of the Letters 290 

Supplement. — Little Original Narratives for the First Cult- 
ure of Mind and Intellect of Children, also Adaptable 

for the First Reading 290 

Moral Narratives 290 

Narratives fi-oni Zoology 298 



Part thb Kirst 



MODEL MOTHERS. 



''^"^^Mi^*" 



f^ 



INTRODUCTION. 



IN the following pages the Author narrates some examples of 
good mothers; but there are, besides, jilenty others whom to 
introduce the limited space of the book lias forbidden. Indeed, 
mothers are generally good by nature; a bad mother is an unnat- 
ural creature. Socrates describes in the seventh narrative, the 
acts of love and kindness which mothers, in general, exhibit 
to their children. As the mothers were at the time of Socrates 
in Athens, so they are to-daj- in all countries of the world. True, 
they are not all eulogized like the mothers of Washington and 
Napoleon, but what of that? A proverb says: "The best women 
are those of wliom they speak least." It is the same with motli- 
ers. The mother gives birth to the child; she bears the heaviLT 
part of education; she is the nurse, the teacher, the playmate, 
the confidante and friend, the godhead of tlie child. 

As a rule, women are better than men; truly they are the bet- 
ter halves of our life, as the American says. The woman, not 
the man, is the crown of creation. ' ' The hand tiiat rocks the 
cradle, rocks the world." "The woman is the queeii-motlier of 
the race. Ever since I can remember, I liave advocated soman's 
claim to equality if not superiority."" Schiller, the pott, gives 
a bright picture of her in his "Song of the Bell,"t thus: — 

" Man must plant and must form. 
Gain by cunnin;,' or sturm, 
But in the house it is rulini;' 
The housewife so modest, 
His children's dear mother; 
And wisely she j;o\erns 
The circle of home. 
The maidens she trains, 
And the boys she restrains, 

*Mrs. Elmina D. Slenker. 

tThe poems of Schiller, translated by E. A. Bowring, Landon. 



Introduction. 



Keeps plying' forever 

Her hands that flay never, 

And wealth helps to raise 

With her orderl.y ways; 
The sweet-scented presses with treasure piles high, 
Bids the thread round the fast -whirling spindle to fly; 
The cleanly and bright-polished chest she heaps full 
With the flax white as snow and the glistening wool; 
All glitter and splendor ordains for the best, 

And takes no rest." 

Therefore man ought to appreciate and highly respect the 
worth and merits of womankind, especially tliose of the wife of 
his bosom, according to the exhortation of the same poet, who 
says* : — 

"All honor to women ! — they soften and leaven 
The cares of the world with the roses of Heaven — 

The ravishing fetters of lo\ e they entwine; 
■ Their charms from the world's eye modestly veiling, 
They foster and nourish with care never failing, 
The fire eternal of feelings divine." 

*"The Praise of Women," in the Poems of Schiller. 




MARY WASHINGTON, MOTHER OF 
PRESIDENT GEORGE WASH- 
INGTON* 



AUGUSTINE WASHINGTON left, as he died 
(1743), to his wife, Mary, five cldldren, of which 
the eldest, George, afterwards President of the ITnited 
States, was eleveu years. The charge of the education 
of her children, and of the direction of their economical 
affairs, required much resolution and force in the char- 
acter of the Avidow. Mrs. Washington discharged her 
duties with gi'eat faithfulness and entire success. Her 
good sense, her constant ajjplication, her tenderness and 
vigilance, ovei'came all obstacles, and she received the 
sweetest recompense of the troubles and labors of a 
mother. She had the fortune to see all her children 
enter into the world Avith fair expectations, and occupy 
there j)laces honorable for themselves and for her ^\ho 
alone had directed their principles, their conduct, and 
their character. Slie lived long enough to see tlie noI)le 
■career of her eldest sou, till to the moment when he was 
placed at the heatl of a nation, and obtained the suffrages 
and the resj)ects of the whole world. They have said 
that there never was a gi'eat man whose greatness could 
not be retraced to the qualities or to the original influence 
of his mother. If this be true, the human race owes 
nuich to the mother of Washington. 

Mary Washington, after having lost her husband, began 

"'Memoirs of the Mother and Wife of Washington," by Mary Conkling. 
Vie, correspondence et Merits de Wasliingto'n, par M. Guizot. 

2 (17) 



18 The Educating Mother. 

most striliingly to sliow her extraordinary characteristics. 
Gifted with great firmness and constancy of purjiose, as 
well as with a clear, discriminating judgment, and re- 
markable mental independence, her self-reliance was 
rapidly strengthened, and soon rendered habitual, by 
circumstances so peculiarly demanding its exercise as 
those in which duty imperatively summoned her to act. 

Her thorough knowledge of practical life enabled her 
not only to superintend, in person, the complicated and 
important pecuniary affairs of her children, and the gen- 
eral interest of her household, but, also, by her inde- 
fatigable industry and ingenuity to supply, in a good 
degree, whatever was necessary to the welfare and com- 
fort of her family. Mrs. Washington had henceforth 
the exclusive direction of the pi-imary education of her 
children. At once their companion, mentor, counselor, 
and friend, she encouraged tl^em to mental exertion, to 
moral culture, to athletic exercise. She taught them 
self-respect, respect for tlie rights and feelings ftf others, 
self-control, and patience under fatigue and suffering. 
She stimulated in them a fondness for labor and for 
knowledge. She inspired them with affection for each 
other, and for their coiuitry, and witli the fear and love 
of God. In short, it was her systematic and unceasing 
endeavoi- to illustrate and enforce willing compliance 
with the all-wise and immutable laAVS by Avhich the 
physical, intellectual, and moral nature of man should 
be harmoniously and unitedly governed. Thus order, 
regularity, and occupation, symj^athy, cheerfiilness, and 
unity, reigned supreme .among the youthful denizens of 
her little Avorld of home. She exacted implicit obedience 
from her cliildi-eu, and she tempered maternal tenderness 



Mary Washington. 19 

by strict domestic discipline; but we are told by one* 
who, as the companion of her son, occasionally shared 
her care and hospitality, that she was "indeed truly 
kind." 

In that genuine and judicious kindness lies the secret 
of the power always maintained by this venerated mother 
over the minds of her offspring. If she assumed the 
right to direct the actions of others, her daily life ex- 
hibited such powers of self-control and self-denial as con- 
vinced her children, by more irresistible evidence than 
mere words could convey, of the justice and disinter- 
estedness by which she was habitually actuated. That 
she rendered their home — simple, nay, even humble 
though it might be — endearing to her children, is proved, 
in some degree, by the frequency and pleasure with 
which, as we gather from much evidential testimony, 
the happy band that once rejoiced in the comfort and 
security of her well-ordered abode in after years revisited 
the maternal i'0(jf Indeed, we are expressly informed 
upon the best authority that an interdiction of the in- 
nocent amusements and relaxations, a taste for which is 
so natural to the young, formed no part of the system of 
juvenile training ])racticed with such pre-eminent success 
by Mrs. Washington. She never rendered necessary 
restraint and dirfcij)line needlessly distasteful or repulsive 
by ascetic sternness or harsh compulsion. The power 
that sometimes gently covered the subjects of her guid- 
ance was a moral suasion far more effective and beneficial 
than influences of fear and constraint. 

Of all the mental qualities of this celebrated woman, 

*Laurence Washington, Esq., of Chotank. 



20 The Educating Mother. 

jDerhaps none was more constantly illustrated in her life 
than her native good sense, the practical effects of which 
were infinitely more useful and precious to her children 
than she could possibly have rendered volumes of theo- 
retic precept. To her possession of this unpretending 
but invaluable characteristic, emphatically her illustrious 
_ son was indebted for the education that formed the basis 
of his greatness. This it was that taught him those 
habits of apj^lication, industry, and regularity, that were 
of such essential service to him, alike in the camp and 
in the Cabinet. This it was that, by inculcating and 
enforcing habitual temperance, exercise, and activity, 
strengthened and developed the wonderfid physical 
jDOwers that were rivaled only by the indomitable Avill 
and stupendous wisdom of her son. 

To his mother Washington owed the high value he 
attached to " the only jiossessioii of ivhieh all men are 
prodigal, and of which all men should he covetous; and 
from her early instructions he imbibed that love of truth 
for which he was remarkable, and which is so j)leasingly 
and forcibly illustrated in some of the favorite anecdotes 
of our childhood.* 

Rigidly regardful of the dictates of an enlightened 
conscience, her gifted son was indebted t(t Mrs. Wash- 
ington for his quick moral sense, and the unflinching 
adhesion to principle that so strongly marked e\'ery act 
of public and private life. 

Wlien he was fourteen years old, and went still to 
school, his eldest brother, Lawrence, who had bee>i an 
officer iu tlie late war of the English army, and had 

'Our juvenile readers are probably familiar with (he stories of "The Little 
Hatchet" and of " The Sorrel Colt." 



M.4JIY AVashington. 21 

observed the military turn of liis young brother, ol)tained 
for George a niidsliipman's warrant, who prepared with 
a liuoyaut si)irit f(n- his departure. Finally the day for 
it arrived, and the luggage of the young enthusiast was 
actually conveyed on board the little vessel destined to 
bear him away to his new post ; l^ut, when he attemj)ted 
to liid adieu to his only parent, his previous resolution 
to de2)art was for the first time subdued, in consequence 
of lier ill-concealed dejection and her irrepressible tears. 
If his plan had been executed, it would have changed 
his destiny, and, perhaps, exerted a great influence 
on that of his country. She persisted in opposing the 
]ilan, and. it was given up. This decision ought not to 
be ascribed to maternal Aveakness. It was her eldest 
son (from her second husband), on whom alone devolved 
the charge of foiu' younger children. To see him sep- 
arated from her at so tender an age, exposed to the perils 
of an accident and the world's rough usage, without a 
parent's voice to counsel, or a parent's hand to guide, 
was a trial of her fortitude and sense of duty which she 
could not be expected to hazard Avithout reluctance and 
concern. 

She proved the injustice of the imputation of Aveak, 
maternal fondness by the cheerfulness with which, almost 
immediately after the abandonment of his original design, 
she relinquished the pleasure and benefit she AA'ould have 
derived from his continued residence under the maternal 
roof. 

The incipient hero was soon actively engaged in the 
profession of engineering, for Avhich his favorite intel- 
lectual pursuits and his taste for athletic exercises had 
already prepared him. In consequence of the near 



22 The Educating Mother. 

vicinity of his half-brother, Lawrence, to the scene of his 
oj)erations, George became an inmate of liis family, and 
continued thenceforth to be an absentee from his early 
home, with only the brief exceptions made by his l^eing 
occasionally and temj^orarily there to aid in the care and 
arrangement of his mother's affairs. 

The events preceding the American Revolution were 
now rapidly developing, and Mrs. Washington suddenly 
beheld her son elevated to the position of the Commander- 
in-Chief of the Colonies, a position surrounded liy the 
most imminent dangers ; but we see this heroic woman 
resigning herself ■with the same tranquil submission, and 
the same unaffected cheerfulness, by which her life had 
hitherto been distinguished, to the decrees of an over- 
ruling and inscrutable destiny. 

Before his dej^arture to the army, Washington, ever 
mindful of his mother's comfort and happiness, even 
when most burdened by public cares, assisted in effecting 
her removal from her country residence to Fredericks- 
burg. Mrs. Washington was remunerated for thus re- 
nouncing her home by being placed in much nearer 
proximity to her friends and relatives, and in a position 
more secure from the dangers of the war. Bestowing on 
him her blessing and her jDrayers, the patriotic mother 
bade adieu to her son for a period, the duration and 
events of which no mortal vision could even faintly dis- 
cern. She hastened, after this painfiil parting, to busy 
herself Avith the arrangement and care of her new home, 
and sought, in active useflilness and industry, not only 
the solace of her own private griefs and apprehensions, 
but the high pleasure that springs fl'om the consciousness 
of doing good. 



Mary Washington. 23 

When the intelligence of the successful passage of the 
Delaware, liy AVashingtou and his brave companions in 
arms, was communicated to her, she received the tidings 
witli placid self-possession; but in relation to such por- 
tions of the dispatches of her visitors as contained eulo- 
gistic allusions to her son, she simply remarked tliat 
" George a2:)peared to have deserved well of his country 
for such signal services," and added: "But, my good 
sirs, here is too much flattery. Still, George will not 
forget the lessons I have taught him ; he will not forget 
himself, though he is the suljject of so much praise." 

And when, after the lapse of long, dark years of 
national suffering, Mrs. Washington was at last informed 
of the crowning event of the great conflict, the surrender 
of Lord CornwaUis, she raised her hands with profound 
reverence and gratitude towards heaven, and fervently 
exclaimed, "Thank God! Avar will now be ended, and 
peace, independence, and happiness bless our country." 

An interval of nearly seven years had passed, when 
this illustrious American matron enjoyed the happiness 
again to behold her victorious son. Upon the return of 
the combined armies from Yorktown, the Commander-in- 
Chief repaired immediately to Fredericksburg, attended 
by a numerous and splendid suite, composed of the most 
distinguished European and American ofiicers. Then 
he went, unaccompanied and on foot, to the modest 
mansion of his mother. She met him on the threshold 
with a cordial embrace, her face beaming with unmingled 
pleasure, and welcomed him by the endearing and well- 
remembered appellation of his early years. The quick 
eye of maternal tenderness readily discerned the furrowed 
traces of ceaseless toils and dangers in the face of her 



24 The Educating Mother. 

son, and immediately and earnestly adverted to the sub- 
ject of his health. Yet, as he gazed upon her beloved 
countenance, his happiness was as unalloyed and exalted 
as earth can bestow. 

The citizens of Fredericksburg determined to cele]:)rate 
the arrival of Washington and his suite by a splendid 
ball. Mrs. Washington received a special invitation. 
She answered that although her dancing days were 
pretty well over, she should feel happy in contributing 
to the general festivity. There . came gay belles, dig- 
nified matrons, numerous foreign officers and veteran 
heroes. But despite the charm of music and the fas- 
cinations of female beauty, all was eager suspense until 
there entered, unannounced and unattended, the mother 
of Washington, leaning on the arm of her son. Hushed 
was each noisy tone and whispered word, as with quiet 
dignity and unaffected grace they slowly advanced. All 
hastened to approach them, the European officers to be 
presented to the parent of their beloved connnaudcr, and 
old friends, neighbors, and acquaintances to tender their 
comjiliments and congratulations. 

Mrs. Washington received these demonstrations of re- 
spect and friendship with perfect s^-possession and un- 
assuming courtesy. She wore the simple but becoming 
costume of the Virginia ladies of the olden time. All 
eyes and hearts were irresistibly attracted by the winning 
address and unj)retending appearance of the venerable 
lady. The European strangers, accustomed to the gaudy 
display of European courts, regarded with astonishment 
her unadorned attire and simplicity, mixed with majesty. 
They spoke of women renowned in ancient times, of the 
celebrated Volumnia, and of the noble mother of the 



]Mary Washington. 25 

Gracchi, but spontaneously rendered the tribute of ad- 
miration and reverence at tlie shrine of native dignity 
and real worth. Having for some time rega.rded with 
serene benignity the l>rilliant and festive scene which she 
had so amiably consented to honor by her presence, Mrs. 
Washington expressed the cordial hope that the liappi- 
ness of all might continue undiminished until the liour 
of general separation should arrive, and, (j[uickly adding 
that it was time for old people to be at home, retired as 
she had entered, leaning on the arm of the Commander- 
in-Chief. 

Re-estabhshed at Mount Vernon, it was the earnest 
desire of Washington that his mother should thenceforth 
reside under his roof But, notwithstanding his atiection- 
atc entreaties, she ccjutinued to conduct a separate estab- 
lishment, with tlie same indefatigable industry whicli she 
had earlier exhibited. In this tranquil retreat she long 
continued to receive the frequent visits of her children 
and grandchildren, Idessed in her happy and lionored 
age by the consciousness of a virtuous and Avell-spent life. 

We find many proofs in the published correspondence 
of Washington of the affectionate devotion wilh which he 
paid this tribute of respect to his mother. Thus, lie 
assigns his absence on a visit to hei', as a reason for not 
previously replying to a letter from the Secretary of 
Congress; and afterwards again in a letter to Major- 
General Knox, he offers the same explanation of a simi- 
lar delay. When his mother Avas ill, we perceive that 
he pleads this honorable errand as presenting claims 
superior to any public obligation. In an epistle written 
in 1788, we find allusions to a prolonged sojourn under 
the maternal roof. 



26 The Educating Mother, 

To the urgent and oft-repeated requests of lier children 
that she would make with them the home of her age, 
Mrs. Washington replied : "I thank you foff your affection- 
ate offers, but my wants are few in this life, and I feel per- 
fectly competent to take care of myself." We are informed 
that Washington "to the last moments of his mother 
yielded to her will with the most implicit obedience, and 
felt for her person the highest respect and the most 
enthusiastic attachment." When she heard praise of 
him, she kept silence or only said that he had been a 
good son, and that she believed that he had fulfilled his 
duty as a man. 

Previous to his departure for France, La Fayette 
visited Fredericksburg expressly for the purpose of mak- 
ing his adieus to Mrs. Washington. When he, accom- 
l^anied by one of her grandsons, approached the house, 
he observed an aged lady working in the adjoining 
garden. She wore a dress of home manufacture and a 
plain straw bonnet. " There, sir," said the boy, " is my 
grandmother." She received her distinguished guest 
with great cordiality, and with her usual frank simplicity 
of address.. "Ah, Marquis!" she exclaimed, "you see 
an old woman ; — but come, I can make you welcome to 
my poor dwelling, "without the parade of changing my 
dress." The Marquis poured forth the glomng enco- 
miums to his former chief and friend, to which his 
hostess only replied : " I am not surprised at what George 
has done, for he was always a good boy." 

Washington, before his departure for the seat of gov- 
ernment to assume the ' duties of President of the United 
States, Avent to Fredericksburg to pay his parting respects 
to his aged mother. Foreboding that he beheld her for 



Mary Washington. 27 

the last time, his calm self-possession that no calamity 
hjid for years been able to shake, yielded to tlie claims of 
nature, and, overpowered ]iy painful emotion, he we])t 
long, with liowed head, over the wasted form of his 
revered and much-loved parent. Sustained even in this 
trying hour by her native strength of mind, the heroic 
mother fervently invoked the blessing of Heaven upon 
him, and solennily bestowing her own, bade him pursue 
the path in which public duty summoned him to depart. 

Mrs. Washington retained unimpaired possession of 
her mental faculties to her last moments, but during the 
last three years of her life her pliysical powers were much 
diminished by a distressing disease, cancer in the breast, 
which terminated her life in her eighty-third year (on 
the 25t]i of August, 1789). Her last hours were accom- 
panied l)y tranquillity and resignation. 

Her remains were interred at Fredericksburg, and for 
many years her sei:)ulcher was undistinguished liy any 
mark of public respect; but in 1833 a monument was 
erected to her memory, representing an obelisk, forty-five 
feet high, with the inscription: "Mary, the Mother of 
Washington." The shaft is adorned by a colossal bust 
of Washington, and surmounted by the American eagle, 
sustaining: a civic crown above the hero's head. 



28 The Educating Mother. 

MRS. ELIZABETH GARY, MOTHER OF 
THE POETESSES ALICE AND 
PHCEBE GARY.* 



THE parents of Alice and Phoebe Cavy, the celebrated 
poetesses of America, were Robert Gary and Eliza- 
beth Jessups. Their father was a farmer in Ohio, and 
died in 1866. Phcebe, in her memorial of Alice, gives 
this picture of their father and mother : " Robert Gary 
was a man of superior intelligence, of sound principles, 
aiid of blameless life. He was very fond of reading, 
especially romances and poetry ; but early poverty, and 
the hai'd exigences of pioneer life, had left him no time 
for acquiring more than the mere rudiments of a common- 
school education. He was a tender, loving father, who 
sang his children to sleep Avith holy hymns, and habitu- 
ally went about his work repeating them." 

The wife of this man, the mother of Alice and Phoebe 
Gary, was blue-eyed and beautiful. Ahce said of her : 
" My mother was a woman of suj)erior intellect, and of 
good, well-ordered life. ^ In my memory she stands apart 
from all others, wiser, purer, doing more, and living 
lietter than any other woman." And tliis is her por- 
trait of her mother in her " Order for a Picture :" — 

"A lady, the loveliest ever the sun 
Looked down upon, you must paint for me; 
Oh, if I only could make you see 
The clear blue eyes, the tender smile, 
The sovereign sweetness, the gentle grace, 
The woman's soul, and the angel's face, 
That are beaming on me all the while. 



* " A Memorial of Alice and Phoebe Gary," by Mary Clemmer Ames. 



Elizabeth Gary. 29 

I need not speak these foolisli words: 
Yet one word tells you all I would say, 
She ii my motJier: you will agree 
That all the rest may be thrown away." 

Phoebe said of her mother : " She was the wonder of 
my childhood ; «he is no less a wonder to me as I recall 
her now. How she did so much work, ami yet did it 
well ; how she reared carefully, and governed Avisely, so 
large a family of children, and yet found time to develop 
by thought and reading a mind of unusual strength and 
clearness, is still a mystery to me. She was fond of his- 
tory, politics, moral essays, biography, and works of 
religious controversy. Poetry she read, but cared little 
for fictitious Hterature. An exemjilary housewife, a Avise 
and kind mother, she left no duty unfulfilled, yet she 
found time, often at night after every other member of 
the household was asleep, by reading, to keep herself 
informed of all the issues of the day, political, social, and 
religious." 

If we remember that the woman Avho kept herself in- 
formed of all the issues of the day, political, social, and 
religious, was the mother of nine chiMren, a housewife 
• who performed the labor of her large household with her 
own hands; that she lived in a rui'al neighborhood, 
wherein personal and family topics were the supreme 
subjects of discussi(jn, aloof from the larger interests and 
l)usy thcn'oughfares of men, we can form a more just 
estimate of the superiority of her natural powers, and the 
native breadth of her mind and heart. 

Sucli wei'e the father and the mother of Alice and 
Plufbe (Airy. From their fiither they I'eceived the poetic 
temperament, the love of nature and of dumb creatures, 



30 The Educating Mother. 



their loving and pit}'ing hearts, which were so large that 
they enfolded all breathing and unbreathing things. 
From their mother they inherited their interest in public 
affairs, their passion for justice, their devotion to trutli 
and duty as they saw it, their clear perceptions, and 
sturdy common sense. Both parents were Universalists, 
to which creed Alice and Phoebe adhered faithfully to the 
end of their life. Let us see now what fruits took rise 
from the mental seed and the example of such parents, 
especially from that of the mother, in the lives of tlieir 
children, Alice and Phoebe ! ^ 

Tlieir mother, who was taxed far beyond her strength, 
died before her time (in 1835). After two years their 
father married again. The step-mother was a hard, un- 
cultured, utilitarian woman, who brought unhappiness to 
their poetical nature. They were kept busily at house- 
hold work during the day, and could prosecute their 
studies only at night. This was a fruitful source of dis- 
sension between them and the step-mother. Candles 
were denied them, a saucer of lard with a bit of rag for 
wick, must serve instead, and for ten long years, they 
studied and wrote and jjublished without pecuniary 
recompense ; often discouraged and desponding, yet never 
despairing, looking out to the graveyard on the near hill- 
side, where tlieir dear mother Avas buried, with a regret 
for the past. They saw but few books. There was no 
chance to learn but in the district school-house ; they 
never went to any other — not very much to that. It 
was distant one mile and a quarter from home ; this dis- 
tance was always walked. 

Alice was but fourteen years when she sent a poem iu 
secret to a Boston newspaper, and knew nothing of its 



Elizabeth Gary. 31 

acceptance, till, to her tistoiiisliineiit, she saw it copied iii 
a Cincinnati i^aper. She laughed and cried over it. She 
did not care any more if she was poor or her clothes 
plain. " My schoolmates may know more than I do," 
she thought, " but they can't write verses that are printed 
in a newspaper." She afterwards wrote poetry and prose 
for seveAl newspapers and magazines. Her " Pictures of 
Memory" were already pronounced, by Edgar Poe, to 
be one of the most musically perfect lyrics in the English 
language. As a ballad writer she was never equaled by 
any American man or woman. In interpreting nature, 
she never failed. Her "Clovernook" stories are pure 
idyls of country life and character, and deserve their 
place amid the classics of the English speech. 

The names of Alice and Phoebe Caiy in the corners of 
newspapers and magazines, had fixed the atteution and 
won the affection of some of the best miuds and hearts 
in the land. Men of letters, among them John Whittier 
and Horace Greeley, had Avritten the sisters words of ap- 
preciation and encouragement. 

Alice went to New York to earn a liying by her j)en. 
She bought there a house, an<l wrote to Phoebe and an- 
other sister to join her. They came to her. Thus be;an 
the life and work of Alice and Phoebe Cary, in Ncav 
York (in 1850-51). There Alice published, in twenty 
years, eleven volumes. In the same tinte Phoebe, beside 
aiding in the editing of several books, brought out several 
books. For the last five years of her life her genius was 
almost as productive as that of Alice. Both sisters 
always retained their country habit of retiring and risiug 
early. 

The last seventeen months of her life, Alice was lame ; 



32 The Educating Mother. 

she uever walked again, save mth crutches. No child 
ever called Alice mother ; yet to the end of her life, her 
love for children never grew faint. She was esjDecially 
fond of little girls. A friend of hers, going into her 
room one day, saw there a row of photographs, all little 
girls, arranged before her on her desk. " Whose little 
girls ? " was the eager question. " Mine ! " Alice an- 
swered, lireaking into a laugh. "They are all Alice 
Gary's ; take your choice. The only troul)le they make 
me is, I can't possibly get time to write to them all, 
though I do try to, to the l^abies' mothers." All had 
been sent by strangers, ph(jtographs of the children 
named " Alice Gary." It is this real love for children, 
as children, which has given to both Alice and Phoibe 
Gary's l)ooks for little folks, such genuine and abiding 
popularity. 

The life of Alice Gary was shortened by hard and 
sedentary work, and by the hot air of the city. All the 
money they wanted ^vas t(j be earned by the pen, and for 
many years it was earned almost exclusively by Alice. 
Of rest, recreation, and amusement, she knew almost 
nothing. 

Wlien already bedridden, her last work Avas to make a 
cap for an aged woman ; but slie coidd not fmisli it, lier 
fingers ached so, and her arm became so tired, slie had to 
drop it; the needle stood in tlie luifinished cap. She fell 
in a deep sleep, out of which she once exclaimed, " I 
want to go away." She did go away, to j-eturn never 
more. 

Horace Greeley said that such a funeral as hers never 
before gathered in New York, in lionor of any woman, 
or man either ; that he uever saw before in any one assem- 



Cornelia. 33 

bly of tlie kind, so many rlistinguislied men and women. 
Aloud wept the women, poor and old, who had lived 
upon her tender bounty. Her exceeding kindness, her 
enlarged t-harity, and wonderful patienee endeared her 
to all her friends. She ^vas born in 1820, and died in 
1871. 

No American poet has ever shown more passion, pathos, 
and tenderness combined, than we find embodied in many 
of the minor love poems of Phoebe Gary. The hymn by 
which she is most widely known is her " Nearer Home." 
She was the wittiest woman in America. Her wit was 
not premeditated, but spontaneous. She believed sin- 
cerely in social, mental, and civil enfranchisement of 
women. After her sister's death, her own little store Avas 
added to Alice's possessions, who had bestowed them on 
her. But with the sister the prop of her life fell also 
into the grave ; she could not bear to live without Alice. 
AVhen she saw no more the sister, her very imi:)ulse and 
power to hve were gone. She grew gray in a few Aveeks, 
and died soon after, in the same year as Alice. 



CORNELIA, MOTHER OF THE TWO 
BROTHERS, GRACCHL* 



npHE children are my jewels, the only ones wliich I 
i appreciate, and which are so endeared to my heart." 
One of the most respectable families in Rome was that 
of the Sempronius, from Avliich the Gracchi descended, 
who became renowned in the Roman history. Though 
her family belonged to the plebeians — that is, to those 

* " Frauenspiegel," bj' F. Raab, and "Distinguished Women," by Mrs 
Uale. 

3 



34 Tfie Educating Mother. 

whose rank was lower than that of the patricians (noble- 
men) — ^it numbered several among its members who rose 
Idj their merits to tlie dignity of consulship, and be- 
came related, by marriage, to the highest families. 
Tiberius Gracchus, the father, was one of the first men 
in the Eepublic, jDrominent for his personal virtues and 
great quaUties of character. His spouse, Cornelia, daugh- 
ter of the great Scij)io, who vanquished Hanni1)al, bore 
him twelve children, but after his death only three of 
them, a daughter and two sons, Tiberius and Caius, Avere 
still aUve. 

Corneha was a highly cultivated lady, who was fond 
of arts and sciences, and knew how to entertain her 
fi'iends agreeably in social gatherings. After the death 
of her husband she devoted herself entirely to the edu- 
cation of her children, upon whom, being a woman of 
noble soul and excellent intellect, she bestowed a degree 
of refined culture which, later, was finished by the best 
teachers. Her highest delight was to be the mother of 
the most accomplished children, and to bring them np 
worthy of the Eepublic. The possession of rare jewels, 
which the Roman ladies so liighly esteemed, were in- 
significant in her opinion, compared mth the blessing of 
being the mother of well-educated children. Once she 
received the visit of a noble lady from Capua, who was 
possessed with such vanity that she not only appeared in 
the most showy attire before Cornelia, but even directed 
her attention to the value of the diamonds and other 
precious things with which she was adorned. Cornelia 
looked upon them -with indifference, and seemed to be 
somewhat puzzled when the lady requested her to show, 
also, her jewels. Just then her children entered the 



Cornelia. 35 

room, conducted by the hand of their teacher. " Hjere," 
replied the uoljle-minded mother, pointing to her f^ons, 
"here are my jewels; the only ones which I value, and 
which are so endeared to my heart." 

Her children grew to her joy and satisfaction, as at- 
tested by the Avords which she once uttered in the 
jjresence of her elder son, Tiberius : " Ought the Romans 
to call me only the daughter of Scipio, and not also the 
mother of the Gracchi ? " These words left a deep im- 
pression on his mind. True, Tiberius had given, akeady, 
excellent proofs of his bravery, when he was a soldier ; 
he had also displayed superior qualities as a business 
man and a good orator ; but not till he had been elected 
Tribune (representative of the peoi^le) did it seem that 
he would accomplish the wishes of his mother, viz., to 
sec him join the ranks of the most renowned Romans. 
Incited by the love of justice, he sided mth the people 
against the patricians, and tried to shield them against 
the violent and oppressive acts of the latter ones. When 
he traveled in Italy, he saw, with grief, the contrast be- 
tween the magnificent and large possessions of the 
noble Romans and the overwhelming misery of the poor 
peasant. While only a fcAV occupied immense riches, 
thousands pined in the lowest miserj'. In order to equal- 
ize this disproportion, he urged a new distribution of the 
public lands. Long ago (336 b. c.) one of the Tribunes, 
Licinius Stolo, had secured the agrarian law, as it was 
termed, according to which no citizen could possess inore 
than five hundred acres of the public lands, and the 
patricians who owned more had to return the excess, 
which was divided among plebeians. But the patricians 
soon overpowered the law, and usurped again the greater 



36 The Educating Mother. 

part of the public laucls'. Now, when Tiberius Gracchus 
was choseu Tribune by the peoi)le, he resolved to defend 
their rights, revived the old agrarian law, and re-estal>- 
lished it witli much energy. But he incurred hereby 
the hatred of the patricians, and the next year, as he 
attempted to maintain the law, he was killed in a tumult 
a', the public meeting (134 b. c). When his mother 
learned the sad event, she was inconsolable. She re- 
tired from society, and mourned the fate of her son. 
She had summoned him herself to contend for honor 
and glory ; but such an imlucky issue of his efforts nearly 
broke her heart. Ten years after, when her other son, 
Cains, l)ecame Tribune, he sought to avenge tlie deatli of 
his brother, and to complete the Avork whicli Tiberius 
had commenced. But against him, too, the patricians 
(caused a revolt in Rome, in which he fell with three 
thousand citizens, a victim for the people's rights. 

The loss of her two sons caused much grief to Cor- 
nelia ; but assured that they sacrificed their lives for the 
common weal, her mind found tranquillity in the general 
respect paid to her by the people. For, though the 
corpses of her sons had been deprived of a public 
funeral, and been thrown into the Tiber, still the people 
honored them as their benefactors, elevatetl statues to 
their memory, consecrated the places where they had 
been murdered, and offered them there gifts and sacri- 
fices. 

Cornelia passed the rest of her life on a manor, where 
she lived according to her rank, but in a simple way. 
Surrounded by cultivated friends, she conversed on the 
events of her family, like on other topics of the past 
times, with trancjuil resignation. Even when she spoke 



Elizabeth Goethe. 37 

of her sons she did not heave any sighs, and disphiyed 
so, in her sufferings, a greatness of mind, to which only 
tliose rise who possess a cultivated mind. After her 
death the jDeople erected, in her honor, a statue <jf 
bronze with the plain inscription : " Cornelia, Mother of 
the Gracchi." 



THE MOTHERS OFGOETHE AND SCHIL- 
LER, THE TWO GREATEST GER- 
MAN POETS.* 



WOLFGANG GOETHE was born 1749, in Frank- 
fort-on-the-Main, and died 1 832. From his father 
the poet inherited the orderliness and stoicism, the craving 
for knowledge, and the almost pedantic attention to de- 
tails, which qualities are noticeable in his writings. 

The mother was more like what we conceive as the 
proper parent for a poet. Her maiden name was Eliza- 
betli Textor. She is one of the most pleasant figures in 
German literature, and one standing out with greater 
vividness than almost any other. She Avas a merry, 
genial, and whole-souled woman of moderate culture. 
She had read the most of German and Italian authors, 
liad picked up considerable desultory information, and 
had that mother wit, which so often in women and poets 
seems to render culture superfluous, their rapid intuitions 
anticipating tardy conclusions of experience. Her let- 
ters are full of sjDirit, vigorous, and vivacious. She was 
one of those rare women who make the world happier by 
the fact of their being in it. Her good humor Avas con- 

*"The Stcry of Goethe's Life," by George Lewes; " Goethe and Sch iller, 
Their Lives and Works," by Boyesen. 



38 The Educating Mother. 

tagious; she saw only the sunny side of existence, and 
she made everyone who came in contact with lier share 
her joyous philosophy. She seems never to have grown 
ohl ; even in her later years the charming ease and sym- 
pathetic geniality of her girlhood never left her. Her 
simple, hearty, joyous, and affectioned nature endeared 
her to all. She Avas the delight of children, the favorite 
of poets and princes. To the last retaining her enthusi- 
asm and simplicity, mingled with great shrewdness and 
knowledge of character, "Frau Aja," as the public 
fondly christened her, wa:S at once grave and hearty, 
dignified and simple. Wieland, Merck, Buerger, jMadame 
de Stael, Karl August, Grand Duke of Weimar, and other 
great people and literary celebiities, sought her acquaint- 
ance; the Duchess Amalia corresponded witli lier as 
wth an intimate friend, and lier letters Avere welcomed 
eagerly at the Weimar Court. Those of her letters 
which have been j^reserved to us, show a deliglitful 
sense of humor and a healthfol, vigorous spirit. After 
a lengthened interview witli her, an enthusiast-'"^ (Xico- 
lovius) exclaimed : " 'Now do I understand how Goethe 
has become the man he is." 

She Avas only eighteen Avhen the poet Avas born. " I 
and my Wolfgang," she said, " have ahvays held fast to 
each other, because Ave Avere botli young together." To 
him she transmitted her love of story-telling, lier animal 
spirits, and hev love of seeing happy faces around her. 
" Order and quiet," she says, in one of her charming let- 
ters to Freiherr A'^on Stein, " are my principal character- 
istics. Hence I dispatch at once whatev^er I have to do, 

*Epfieineriden der Literatur. 



Elizabeth Goktiie. 39 



the most clisagTeeal)le aluays lii;>t, and I gul]) down tlie 
devil without hjokiiig at liiiii. When all ha.s returned tt» 
its proper state, then I defy anyone to surpass me in 
good humor." Her lieartiness and tolerance are the 
causes, she thinks, why everyone likes her. " I am fond 
of people, and that everyone feels directly, young and old, 
I pass A^^tl^out pretension through the world, and that 
gratifies men. I never 'bemoralize' anyone — always 
seek out the good that is in them, and leave what is bad 
to Him who made mankind, and knows how to round off 
the angles. In this Avay I make myself happy anil com- 
fortable." Who does not recognize the son in these 
words ? One of the kindliest of men inherited his lov- 
ing, happy nature from one of the heartiest of women. 

He"also inlierited from her his dislike of unnecessary 
emotion. Her sunny nature shrank from storms. When 
her son was dangerously ill at Weimar (180")), no one 
ventured to speak to her on the subject; not until he 
had completely recovered, did she voluntarily enter on it. 
"I knew it all," she remarked, "but said nothing. Xow 
we can talk about him without one feeling a stab every 
time his name is mentioned." In Goethe, also, tlie 
emotive force of mind ^\•as subject to the intellectual ; he 
was " king over himself" 

All that was beautiful in Goethe's memories of child- 
hood and early youth, naturally clustered about this 
happy, girhsh mother. She was a playmate and com- 
panion to him, and the confidant of all his boyish 
sorrows, shared his youthful enthusiasm for Klopstock, 
whom the father had jjlaced on the index of " prohibi- 
torum," hstened, probably, with fond pride to his own 
improvisations, and secretly took part in his occasional 
rebellions against the paternal authority. 



40 The Educating Mother. 

This genial, indulgent mother em2:)loyed her faculty 
for story-telling to his and her own delight. " Air, fire, 
earth, and Avater I represented under the forms of prin- 
cesses, and to all natural phenomena I gave a meaning, 
in which I almost believed more fervently than my little 
hearer, and when I made a pause for the night, promis- 
ing to continue the story on the morrow, I was certain 
that he Avould, in the meauAvhile, think out the issue for 
himself, and so he often stimulated my imagination. 
When I turned the story according to his plan, and told 
him that he had found out its solution, he was all fire 
and flame. His grandmother, who made a great pet of 
him, was the confidant of all his ideas as to how the 
story would turn out, and as she repeated them to me, 
and I turned the story according to these hints, I had 
the pleasure of continuing it. to the delight and astonish- 
ment of Wolfgang, Avho saAV with glowing eyes the ful- 
fillment of his OAvn conceptions, and listened with enthu- 
siastic applause." AVhat a charming glimpse of mother 
and son ! 

The son, in return, throughout his long life cherished 
the name of his mother with tender regard and affection. 
When he rose to fame, she might Avell be conscious of 
the reflected glory which his greatness shed upon her ; 
she sympathetically followed his career, was proud of his 
achievements, but Avas never surprised by them. She 
kept open house for all his friends, and no one Avho 
stood in any relation to Goethe could pass through 
Frankfort, Avithout stopping to pay his regards to her. 
All Avho had once been under her roof, often men of the 
most opposite sentiments and convictions, felt the charm 
of her presence, and became her staunch friends and 
admirers. 



Frederic; Schiller's INIotiier. 41 

In 1768, Goethe returned home from Leipsic, because 
he was broken in health. His father showed him the 
cold shoulder, for he wanted to see him farther advanced 
in the study of jurisprudence; he did not understand 
that a poet's sphere is a different one. Mother and sisteri 
however, were t<juched by the worn face, and, woman- 
like, received him with affection which compensated for 
his father's coldness. This one had also almost excited 
the hatred of his other child, CorneUa, by the stern, 
])edantic way in which he treated her. She secretly re- 
belled against his tyranny, and made her brother the 
confidant of all her griefs. The poor mother had a ter- 
rible time of it, trying to pacify the children, and to 
stand between them and their father. 

In 1808 she died, seventy-seven years old. To the 
last her love for her son, and his for her, had been the 
glory and sustainment of her happy old age. He had 
-wished her to come and live with him at Weimar ; but 
the wish of old Frankfort friends, and the influence of 
old habits, kept her in her native city, where she was 
venerated bv all. 



FREDERIC SCHILLER'S MOTHER. 



FREDERIC SCTIILLER was born 1759, in AVirtem- 
berg, and died 180.1, in Weimar. His mother Avas an 
excellent, mild-mannered lady, tall of stature, and Avell pro- 
portioned, A\nth a countenance full of gentleness and affec- 
tion. Her children all loved and revered her, and the poet^ 
who bore a striking resemblance to her, always tenderl}' 
cherished her memory. When he was thirteen years old he 
was dispatched to the military seminary, which the Grand 



42 The Educating Mother. 

Duke of Wirtembei'g had, in 1770, established, and where 
he was educated at the duke's expense. Then lie saw 
his mother no more for many years, for there were no 
vacations in the Institute, and ladies, even mothers, were 
not admitted for the sake of visits. Therefore only a 
scanty report is left of her influence upon the mind of 
the poet. 



THE MOTHER OF THE FRENCH POET, 
FRANCIS COPPEE.* 



FRANCIS COPPEE, the poet, who Avas recently ad- 
mitted to the National Academy of Arts, in Paris, 
gave the fallowing narrative in an address which he de- 
livered in 1885 in a ladies' institute of Paris: "Your 
teachers wish to make of you, good house-wives. This 
seems to the casual observer, a somewhat simple under- 
taking, but I shall endeavor to explain to you jiresently 
what a multitude and what a variety of merits are 
needed, as I was acquainted with one whom I tenderly 
loved, and who will always seem to me a model. She 
was the wife of a ministerial officer, and had had eight 
children, of whom four were left alive, three grown uj) 
daughters, and one small son. What a task to nourish 
this little crowd with the small salary of their father! 
For the mother wished to maintain hei- rank, to remain 
a citizen's wife (' une bourgeoise '), a lady ! Well ! 
The courage and the magic force of the hands of the 
excellent mother performed all. The girls had new 
clothes, and the little boy was always dressed neatly. He 

*ZUrcher Abend Post. 



Mother or Francis Coppee. 48 

is still alive, the little boy of that by-gone time, and 
though forty years have passed over him, he still remem- 
bers a cloak of 8eoteh woolen stuff, a master-work of 
motherly industry, of which he was very proud, and 
which his school-fellows envied him. It was astonishing 
what economy, patience, inventive faculty, and activity 
the good lady exerted, in order that the house and fixmily 
might a2:)pear to her honor. When the circumstances of 
the family were such as to admit, some relatives or friends 
of the husband were invited for tea, which the wife al- 
ways contrived to serve in a graceful and becoming 
manner. To accomplish this she had arisen, like a 
servant-girl, at five o'clock in the morning, and some- 
times did a little washing, so that her daughters had white 
frills. 

" But they had also bad times. Towards the end of the 
month the dinner was often scanty and meager; still it 
was always served upon a bright, white table-cloth. In 
summer-time rarely was a bou(piet absent embellishing 
the room, and filling it with sweet fragrance. I could 
tell you of the worthy lady with the faithful heart and 
industrious hands indefinitely. She was always cheerful. 
When at work she joked in order to comnumicate to hei- 
family the confidence and enei'gy with which she over- 
flowed. Nay, in the days of great poverty she redoubled 
her good humor, and the residence where you often wovdd 
not have had an opportunity to make tinkle a dolla]' liy 
striking it on another, was filled with songs early and 
late. 

" I was witness of this plain and noble life, and believe 
firmly that ])ecause I have grown up near this excellent 
lady, the flower of sentiment has risen in my heart and 



44 The Educating IMotiier. 

imagination, and made me a jDoet ; for you have already 
guessed rightly, no • doubt ; the little hoj, who was so 
proud of his Scotch cloak, is myself" 



MRS. JAMES W. WHITE* 



M 



RS. JAMES W. AVHITE, whose maiden name 
was Rhoda Waterman, lived since 1834 in New 
York City, where her husband was a distinguished lawyer. 
From her own accomplished mother she early learned 
the science, not only of the most admiral)le domestic 
economy, but of increasing, day after day, the happiness 
of her husband, her children, and her servants. She 
alone was the teacher of her children. Certain hours of 
the day were set apart for study and instruction, with 
which she permitted no engagement to interfere. In tlie 
higher branches, and in music — for which her children 
had extraordinary talent — she gave them lessons, and 
carefully superintended their practice, allomng them the 
assistance of masters in foreign languages. Idolizing 
their mother as they did, they needed no stimulus but her 
love and their own keen appetite for knoAvledge. Thus 
her devotedness and their own loving zeal for study Avere 
rewarded by uncommon proficiency on their part, — every 
one of them laying the foundation of a solid education, 
to which were added all the accomplishments that embel- 
lish social life. " To what school do you send your chil- 
dren ? " was frequently asked by those who wondered at 
their progress. 

With the careful training of their minds, INIrs. White 



'"Queens of American Sosiety," by Mrs. Ellet. 



]Mr8. James W. White. 45 



combined a diligent and happy tutoring of the heai't; 
and not rarely ^vere their domestic pleasures made to 
develop the affections a.s well as the mental powers. 
Home festivals on birth-nights, or the return of absent 
members of the family, were frequently given, with pri- 
vate operatic or dramatic performances by the children, 
dressed in appropriate costume — the drawing-room deco- 
rated with garlands and floral mottoes. Hhort moral 
plays, written by the mother, were frequently acted by 
the little ones ; and their musical parts were sustained to 
the admiration of the friends who listened. Three of the 
daughter-s possessed voices of extraordinary purity and 
])ower, and, Anth the excellent instruction they had re- 
ceived, \vere capable of the highest vocal performances. 
Nor were these children permitted to neglect the culture 
of any useful art or acquirement. 

]Mrs. V/hite's initiring activity was not confined to the 
education of her children, and the management of her 
household. Even when burdened Avith the care of a 
large young family, her thirst for doing good constantly 
led her to seek out among the poorest classes of the New 
York population, and in the most wretched haunts, the 
objects of her sympathy. To this purpose she arranged 
private and jiubUc concerts, fairs, etc., etc. One of the 
concerts at which jMadame Sontag sang, proved the most 
successfiil entertainment of the kind ever given in New 
York. 

One would be led to judge that these repeated labors 
for public and private charities must have interfered 
sadly with the duties of domestic life. It was not so, 
however, in this case. IVIrs. White all the wliile con- 
tinued to superintend with unrelaxed assiduity the ad- 



46 The Educattng Mother. 

vanced education of lier children, studying with them, 
and making herself their comj)amon as well as instruct- 
ress. She was continually in their midst, perfecting her- 
self in some already familiar branch of knowledge, or 
pursuing some new one with all the ardor of youth, 
hearing the lessons of the youngest girl, encouraging, by 
her presence and advice, the higher studies of her mar- 
ried daughters, and then giving herself up to her own 
aj^pointed hours for self-improvement. 

The spirit of generosity, derived from the lofty views 
inculcated by their mother, not only led the children to 
apply Avith alacrity to their advancement in knowledge, 
but to seize and seek every opportunity of performing- 
acts of self-denial for the benefit of others. Np oppor- 
tunity was lost of impressing the golden rules of life on 
their minds. Few mothers, indeed, understood as she 
did the importance of detail and illustration in recom- 
mending the duties of life. It is one thing to inculcate 
them by theory, and another to point out the way to 
practice them. With the mother's self-sacrificing devo- 
tion, and earnest perseverance in duty, she showed the 
habitual cheerfulness and serenity of soul and temper on 
whose ever equal surface no interior trouble or external 
tempest could produce a single ripple. This perpetual 
calm in her manner, and the bright smile she ever wore 
in the most trying circumstances, had a better effect on 
the young spirits around her than a thousand homilies. 
Could it then be Avondered, not that husband and chil- 
dren should " rise up and call her blessed," but that to 
them, one and all, a single night spent outside of such a 
home should appear a privation hard to bear ? 

Home parties and amusements of all kinds were eu- 



Mrs. James W. White, 47 

couraged. On several occasions concerts and an entire 
oj)era were performed without professional assistance, 
and all spectators charmed with the wonderful artistic 
skill of the sons and daugliters who owed to the mother 
theii* rare attainments. 

Her children, partaking of her charity, shared also her 
every good work and undertaking for the poor. Kate 
De , who lived in their family, returned after her hus- 
band's death to liis family in Ireland. She was only 
able to read and sign her name, and too mueli ashamed 
of her ignorance to be willing to l>etray it to her proud 
relatives, she sought aid from the three eldest daughters 
of Mrs. White. Tliough sejiarated l)y the Atlantic from 
her, they educated lier entirely by letter, instructing her 
thoroughly in the conmutn Englisli branches, and writing 
out an entire grammar, geograpliy, and ai'ithmetic, adapted 
to her comprehension and use. These she could under- 
stand, but not the simplest school books ; and under this 
training she became a well-educated Avoman. 

How has Mrs. White still found leisui-e to write books 
or to keep up an immense correspondence by letter? 
Yet she has done both. 8he is author of two popular 
works (" Portraits of My INIarried Friends," and " Mary 
Stanton"), and she has had an extensive correspondence 
with the learned, the gifted, and the distinguished in this 
country and in Europe, e. g., with President Abraham 
Lincoln. She may well be called " the Sevigne " of the 
United States. 

Her eldest sou. Gen. Frank White, had a military 
career, and won a renown the 'bravest could envy. None 
of life's painful experiences — and the saddest of all, in 
the death of her husband — have chilled her warm, loving 



48 The Educating Mother. 



heart. Pier noble deeds are a bright example for her 
country\vomen, illustrating the truth of these lines : — 

" We need not go abroad for stones to build 
Our monumental glory; every soul 
Has in it the material for its temple. " 



^^OCRATES AND HIS SON. 



J. DIALOGUE ON THE MERITS OF MOTHERS.* 

SOCRATES seeing his eldest son, LamproclevS, ill- 
tempered to his mother, held this conversation with 
lum : — 

Socrates. " Tell me, my son, do you know some peojole 
whom they call ungrateful?" 

Lamprodes. " Most certainly." 

Soe. "And have you ever hitherto .considered whom 
men stigmatize by this name, and what those do Avhom 
people thus stigmatize ? " 

Lam. "Yes, for those receiving favors, when they 
can render thanks without doing so, are called ungrateful." 

Soe. " Do, then, peo]jle not deem to be right to class 
the ungrateful ones among the unjust?" 

Lam. " I think so." 

Soc. "And have you ever ascertained as sure it is 
unjust to reduce friends to servitude, so to be just to do 
so, if the peoj)le are hostile?" 

La7n. "Certainly." 

Soe. " And it seems to me that he is ungrateful who, 
after having been benefited by others, either friends or 
enemies, not endeavors to return them the favor." 



^Xenophon's " Memorabilia of Sociales,'' BouU II, i liap. 2. 



Socrates and His Son. 49 



Lam. " Exactly." 

Soc. "Therefore, if it is so, it is paljDable tlmt iu- 
gratitudc is an act of injustice." 

Lam. "I consent." # 

Soe. "And the greater the benefits are which some- 
body receives, without rendering the kindness, the more 
ungrateful ho is ; is it not so ?" 

Lam. " I agree also to that." 

Soc. " Whom, then, could we find more benefited, and 
by whom, than children by parents ? To whom not ex- 
isting before, the parents are the agency of existence, and 
whom they enabled to see so many beautiful objects, and 
to participate of so many good things, as the gods give 
to men, which, it is Avell known, are so valuable in every 
point of view that we all fly most of all to leave them 
behind, and that the governments decreed death for the 
greatest offenses, thinking that they Avill not, in all likeli- 
hood, stop wrong-doing by the fear of any greater evil ? 
Nor suppose, my son, that all men beget children through 
mere sensuality; on the contrary, we are heedful, and 
carefully considering, from what women the best children 
may be born to us. And the husband nourishes the 
wife, and provides to the future children all things he 
thinks to be useful to them for life, and those in as great 
an abundance as he may be able. But the wife, having 
received the child within herself, carries that burden, 
loaded and periled for life, imparts a part of the nourish- 
ment by which she herself is supported, and having car- 
ried it, with much labor and her full time, and brought 
forth it, nourishes it and takes care of it, having as yet 
experienced neither a single advantage, nor the infant 
knowing by whom it is fondly tended, nor being able to 
4 



50 The Educating Mother. 



give a sign of what it needs, but slie herself' guessing the 
useful and agreeable things tries to satisfy it, and nour- 
ishes it much time, and persevering in toils day and night, 
ignorant what retm-n for all she will receive. And it is 
not sufficient only to nourish, but when the children 
seem to be apt to learn some, whatever good rules the 
parents themselves may have for the conduct of life, they 
teach unto them; also what they think another to be 
fitter to teach them, they send them to him, incurring 
exjDenses, and exercise an anxious care how the children 
become to them as far as possible the best." 

Lam. " But if she even all that have done, and much 
more than that, still nobody could endure her harshness 
of temper." * 

Soc. " Which of two seems more difficult to be borne ; 
the -svild temper of a beast or of a mother ? " 

Lam'. "I mean that of the mother, at least of such 
an one." 

>S'oc. "Then she gave you already, anyhow, some 
injury by having either bitten or kicked you, as already 
many have suffered fi-om beasts ? " 

Lam. " No, but in very truth she utters things which 
one would not wish to hear for his whole hfe." 

Soc. "And yet, you, how much trouble, difficult to 
endure li'om a little boy, morose in words and doings, do 
you think to have caused imto this mother, causing her 
work, by day and night, and how much sorrow by your 
illness?" 

Lam. "But never did I tell nor do her something 
that could call the blush to her cheeks." 

"He speaks of Xantipjie, the wife of Socrates aud liis mother. She was 
notorious for her violent temper. 



Socrates and His Son. 51 

Soc. "What then? It seems to be harder to you to 
hear what she says than it is for stage-players, since in 
tragedies they tell each other the worst reproaches." 

Lam. "But I believe, since they do not think that 
either he of the speakers who reviles, reviles that he may 
injure, neither that the driver into a corner drives in 
order to do some harm, they easily bear it." 

Soc. "But knoAving well that, whatever mother says 
to you, she not only nothing bad thing intending says it, 
but even ANishing that for you may be so many blessings 
as for no one else, you are angry with her? Or do 
you think that she is evil intentioned to you ? " 

Lam. "No, assuredly, I don't think that cither." 
• Soe. "Do you not say, then, that she who is well- 
wishing to you, and taking care of you when you are 
sick' so that you get well again, and that you be wanting 
of nothing what is conducive, and nioreover praying in 
your behalf to the gods for many blessings in your be- 
half, and j)aying oblations she has vowed, that she is 
harsh ? I, at least, think if you cannot stand sucli a 
mother, that you cannot stand blessings. Tell me, to 
whom else do you think to be obliged to pay respect? 
Or are you prepared to please nobody, nor to trust neither 
a general, nor a chief magistrate (Archou) ? " 

Lam. " I would indeed endeavor to please them." 

iSoe. "Would you not also please t<j the neighbor 
that he might kindle you the fire, if you want it, and 
that an assistant in the acquisition of good, and if you 
may have chanced to stumble in any respect, may kindly 
lend aid to you from near at hand ? " 

Lam. "Cei-tainly I would." 

Soc. " What then ? Would it make no difference to 



62 The Educating Mother. 



you that a fellow-traveler, or fellow-passenger, or if you 
should meet anyone else in any other station of life, that 
such an one be a friend or enemy, or would you also take 
care of the benevolence i^roceeding from all them ? " 

Lam. " I guess I ought to care." 

Soc. "So, then, you are prepared to take care of all 
them, but your mother, who of all loves you most, you 
think you are not obliged to respect herf Do you not 
know that, though the State (the commonwealth) takes 
no cognizance of any other species of ingratitude, nor 
gives judgment against, but overlooks those who having 
received favors not return them; but, if someone does 
not honor the j)^i'ents, to this the State imposes a fine, 
and, rejecting him, does not permit him to be an Archon 
(supreme magistrate), thinking that the sacrifices, in be- 
half of the State, would neither be duly offered, if this 
one were to offer them, or to perform any other noble 
and just action? Aiid, by God, if somebody not adorns 
the graves of the parents, the State examines into this 
also in the scrutinies of candidates for magisterial oflSces. 
You, then, O son, if you are wise, pray all gods to be 
merciful to you, if you dishonor your mother ; lest, if they 
also recognize you to be ungrateful, they refuse to do 
you good, and on the other hand you Avill have respect 
for the oj)inion of mankind; lest, when they perceive 
that you do not respect your parents, they all desj)ise 
you, and then you appear in solitude of friends; for, if 
they surprise you to be ungrateful towards the parents^ 
none Avill think that he, afi:er having done you a kindness, 
will obtain from you a grateful return." 



Letitia Bonaparte. 53 

LETITIA BONAPARTE, MOTHER OF 
EMPEROR NAPOLEON I.* 



LETITIA RANIOLINI, one of the luust beautiful 
and accomplished of the young ladies of Corsica, was 
married to Charles Bonajiarte, a successful lawyer oi' 
Illustrious descent, and of energetic miud. She had 
t'.iirteen children; eight of them survived to attain 
majority. When the French invaded Corsica, Bonaparte 
abandoned the peaceful i)rofession of law, and, grasping 
his sword, luiited with his countrymen, under the banner 
of General Paoli, to resist the invaders. His wife, Letitia, 
had then but one child. She was expecting soon to give 
Ijirth to another. Paoli and his band of patriots, de- 
feated again and again, were retreating before their vic- 
torious foes into the fastnesses of the mountains. Letitia 
followed the fortunes of her husband, and, notwithstanding 
the embarrassment of her condition, accompanied him 
on horseback in these perilous and fatiguing expeditions. 
The conflict, however, ^vas short. By the energies of the 
sword, Corsica became a province of France, and the 
Italians, who inhabited the islands, l)ecame the unwilling 
subjects of the Bourbon throne. On the IStli of August, 
1769, in anticipation of her confinement, Letitia had 
taken refuge in her town house at Ajaccio. In the morn- 
ing of that day she attended church, but, during the 
service, admonished by approaching pains, she was obliged 
suddenly to return home, and, throwing herself upon a 
couch, covered Avith an ancient piece of taj^estry, she 
gave birth to her second son, Napoleon Bonaparte. The 
father of Napoleon died not many year's after the birth 

* "The History of Napoleon Bonaparte," by John S. C. Abbott. 



54 The Educating Mother. 

of this child. Madame Bonaparte, by this event, was 
left a widow with eight children. Her means Avere lim- 
ited, but her mental endowments were commensurate 
with the Aveighty responsibilities which devolved upon 
her. Her children all ajipreciated the superiority of her 
character, and yielded, with perfect and unquestioning 
submission, to her authority. 

NajDoleon, in particular, ever regarded his mother with 
the most j)rofound respect and affection. He rejDcatedly 
declared that the family were entirely indebted to her 
for that physical, intellectual, and moral training which 
prci^ared them to ascend the lofty summits of power to 
which they finally attained. He Avas so deeply im- 
pressed Avitli the sense of these obligations that he often 
said : " My opinion is, that the future good or Ijad con- 
duct of a child dei")ends entirely upon its mother." One 
of his fir?st acts, on attaining poAver, Avas to surround his 
mother Avith every luxury which wealth could furnish. 
And Avhen j^laced at the head of the Government of 
France, he immediately and energetically established 
schools for female education, remarking that France 
needed nothing so much to promote its regeneration as 
good mothers. 

" Left without guide, Avithout support," said he, " my 
mother Avas obliged to take the direction of affairs upon 
herself, l:)ut the task Avas not above her strength. She 
managed everything, provided for everything, with a 
prudence Avhich could neither have l)een expected from 
her sex nor from her age. Ah, Avhat a Avoman ! Where 
shall Ave look for her equal ? She Avatched over us with 
a solicitude unexampled. Every low sentiment, every 
.ungenerous affection, Avas discouraged and discarded. 



Letitia Bonaparte. 55 



She suffered nothing but that which was grand and ele- 
vated to take root in our youthful understandings. She 
abhorred falsehood, and would not tolerate the slightest 
act of disobedience. None of our faults were overlooked. 
Losses, privations, fatigue, had no effect upon her. She 
endured all, braved all. She had the energy of a man, 
combined with tlic gentleness and delicacy of a woman." 
Letitia Bona2)arte was a woman of Extraordinary en- 
dowments. She had herself hardly passed the period of 
childho(Kl, ])eing but nineteen years of age, when she 
heard the first wailing cry of Napoleon, her second-born, 
and pressed the helpless babe, with thanlcsgiving and 
prayer, to her maternal bosom. She was a young mother 
to train and educate such a child for his unknown but 
exalted destiny. She encircled in protecting arms the 
nursing lialie, as it fondled a mother's bosom with those 
little hands, which, in after years, grasped scepters, and 
uphove thrones, and hewed down armies with resistless 
sword. She taught those infant lij^s " papa, mamma " — 
those lips at whose subsc(picnt command all Europe was 
moved, and whose burning, glowing, martial words fell 
like trumpet tones upon the world, hurling nation upon 
nation in the shock of war. She taught tliose feeble feet 
to make their first trembling essays upon the carpet, 
rewarding the successful endeavor with a mother's kiss 
and a mother's caress — tlioso feet which afterwards strode 
over tlie sands of the desert, and waded through the 
blood-stained snows of Russia, and tottered in the infirm- 
ities of sickness and death on the barren crags of St. 
Helena. She instilled into the bosom of her son those 
elevated principles of lienor and self-respect which, when 
surrounded by every temptation earth could present, pre- 



56 The Educating Mother. 

served him from the degraded doom of the inebriate, of 
the vohiptuary, and of the gamester, and which made the 
court of Napoleon, when the most brilliant court this 
world has ever known, also the most illustrious for the 
purity of its morals, and the decorum of its observances. 
Madame Bonaparte, after the death of her husband, 
resided with her children in their country house. A 
smooth, sunny lawn, which extended in front of the house, 
lured them to their infantile sports. They chased the 
butterfly ; they played in the little pools of water with 
their naked feet ; in childish gambols they rode upon the 
back of the faithful dog, as happy as if their brows were 
never to ache beneath the burden of a crown. 

The young Napoleon loved to hear from his mother's 
lips the story of her hardships and sufferings, as, Avith 
her horse and the vanquished Corsicans, slie fled from 
village to village, and from fastness to fastness before 
their conquering enemies. The mother was probably but 
little aware of the warlike spirit she was thus nurturing 
in the bosom of her son, l^ut with her own high mental 
endowments, she could not be insensible to the extraor- 
dinary capacities which had been conferred upon the 
silent, pensive listener. " My mother," said Napoleon at 
St. Helena, " loves me. She is capable of selling every- 
thing for me, even to her last article of clothing." 

The dignity of this lady is illustrated by the fol- 
lowing anecdote: Soon after Napoleon's assumj)tion of 
the imperial purple, he happened to meet his mother in 
the Garden of St. Cloud. The emperor was surrounded 
with his courtiers, and half playfully extended his hand 
for her to kiss. " Not so, my son," she gravely replied, 
at the same time presenting her hand in return, " it is 
your duty to kiss the hand of her wlio gave you life." 



Letitia Bonaparte. 57 

A bachelor uncle owned the rural retreat where the 
family of Madame Bonaparte resided. He was very 
wealthy, l)ut very par.sinioni(jii!<. AVhenever the young 
Bonapartes ventured to ask him for money, he had none. 
At last they discovered a bag of doubloons secreted on a 
shelf. They formed a conspiracy, and by the aid of 
their sister, Paulina, who was too young to understand 
the share which she had in the :nischief, they contrived 
on a certain occasion when the uncle was j^leading 
poverty, to draw down the bag, and the glittering gold 
rolled over the floor. The boys burst iuto shouts of 
laughter, while he Avas almost choked with indignation. 
Just at this moment Madame Bonaparte came in. Her 
presence 'immediately silenced the merriment. She 
severely reprimanded her sons for their improper l)ehav- 
ior, and ordered them to collect again the scattered 
doubloons. 

When France became a republic (1792), Corsica was 
re-attached to it as a province. But the English wanted 
also to take jiossession of the island. Its treacherous 
governor, Paoli, sided with them, and endeavored to in- 
duce Madame Bonaparte and her family to unite Avith 
him in the treasonable surrender of the island. " Resist- 
ance is hopeless," said he, " and by your perverse oppo- 
sition you are bringing irreparable ruin and misery on 
yourself and family." " I know of but two laws," re- 
plied Madame Bonaparte heroically, " which it is neces- 
sary for me to obey, the laws of honor and of duty." A 
decree was immediately passed banishing the family from 
the island. One morning Napoleon, who was then 
twenty-four years old, informed his mother that several 
thousand armed peasants were on the march to attack 



58 The Educating Mother. 

the house. The flimily fled precij^itately with such few 
articles of property as they could seize at the moment, 
and for several days wandered houseless and destitute on 
the seashore until Napoleon could make arrangements 
for their embarkation. The house was sacked 1)y the 
mob, and the furniture entirely destroyed.. It was mid- 
night when an open boat, manned l^y four strong rowers 
with muffled oars, approached the shore in the vicinity 
of the pillaged and battered dwelling of Madame Letitia. 
A dim lantern was held by an attendant as the family, 
in silence and in sorrow, surrounded with poverty and 
perils, entered the boat. A few trunks and bandboxes 
contained all their available property. Tlie oarsmen 
jiulled out into the dark and lonely sea. The emigrants 
soon ascended the sides of a small vessel which was wait- 
ing for them in the offing, and when the morning sun 
arose over the blue Avaters of the Mediterranean, they 
were apjwoaching the harl:)or of Nice. Here they 
remained but a short time, when they removed to Mar- 
seilles, where the family resided in great jiecuniary 
embarrassment until in 1799 Napoleon was appointed 
Commander-in-chief of the Army of the Interior, and in- 
trusted with the military defense and government of 
Paris. Immediately upon the attainment of this high 
jiosition, he hastened to Marseilles to ])lace his mother in 
a situation of perfect comfort. And he continued to 
watch over lier with most filial assiduity, proving himself 
rfi affectionate and dutiful son. From this hour the 
Avhole family, mother, brothers, and sisters, were taken 
under his protection, and all their interests blended with 
his own. 

Madame Bonaparte died at Marseilles in the year 



Mrs. Nancy Lincoln. 59 

1822, about a year after the death of her son Napoleon. 
►Seven of licr children were still living, to each of whom 
she bequeathed nearly two millions of dollars. 



MRS. NANCY LINCOLN, MOTHER OF 
PRESIDENT ABRAHAM LINCOLN.* 



MISS L. NAIS 
Thomas Lii 



ANCY HANKS, who was married to Mr. 
Lincoln in 1806, was the mother of Presi- 
dent Abraham Lincoln. She was a slender, pale, sad, 
and sensitive woman, with much in her nature that Avas 
truly heroic, and much that shrank from the rude life 
around her. Her home Avas a fiirmer's cabin in Ken- 
tucky ; its occupants Avere all huml^le, all miseraljly poor. 
Yet it Avas a home of love and of virtue. Both father 
and mother were religious persons, and sought at the 
earliest moment to impress the minds of their children 
with moral truth. A great man never drew his infant 
life from a purer or more Avomanly bosom than Avas that 
of ]\Irs. Lincoln; and Mr. Lincoln always looked back 
to her Avith an unspeakable affection. Long after her 
sensitive heart and Aveary hands had crumbled into dust, 
and had climbed to life again in forest floAvers, he said to 
a friend, Avith tears in his eyes : "All that I am, or hope 
to be, I OAve to my angel mother — blessings on her mem- 
ory." Abraham and his sister often sat at her feet to 
hear of scenes and deeds that roused their young imagi- 
nations, and fed their hungry minds. 

In 1816, Avhen Abraham Avas in his eightli year, 
Thomas Lincoln moved to Indiana. The dAvelling of the 

^•'Tlie Life of Abraham Lincoln," by J. G. IIollaiKl. 



60 The Educating Mother. 

family was very homely. Skins were hung at the door 
to keep out the cold, and a sack filled with dry leaves 
wa.s laid upon the bedstead. Abraham's delicate mother 
bent to the dust under the burden of life which circum- 
stances had imposed upon her. A quick consumption 
seized her, and her life went out in tlie flashing fevers of 
her disease. The boy and his sister Avere orphans, and 
the humble home in the wilderness was desolate. The 
death of Mrs. Lincoln occurred in 1818, scarcely two 
years after her removal to Indiana, and when Abraham 
was in his tenth year. They laid her to rest luider the 
trees near the cabin, and, sitting on her grave, the little 
boy wept his irreparable loss. There was probably none 
but the simplest ceremonies at her burial, and Abraham 
and his father Ijoth thought of the good Parson Elkin 
whom they had left in Kentucky. Several jnonths after 
Mrs. Lincoln died, Abraham wrote a letter to him, in- 
forming him of his mother's death, and begging him to 
come to Indiana, and to preach her funeral sermon. It 
was a great favor that he thus asked of the jooor preacher ; 
it would require him to ride on horseback nearly a hun- 
dred miles through the wilderness ; but still he replied 
that he would come. A bright Sunday morning he 
came. The congregation, composed of the settlers of the 
region, Avere seated upon stumps and logs around the 
grave, and the i^arson sj^oke of the jirecious woman who 
had gone, with the warm praise which she deserved, 
and held her up as an example of true womanhood. 

Abraham Lincoln Avas deeply imi:)ressed by all that he 
had heard. It revealed her sweet and jiatient exami)le, 
assiduous efforts to inspire him with pure and noble mo- 
tives, her simple moral instructions, her devoted love for 



VOLUMNIA. 61 

him, and the motherly offices she had rendered him (hir- 
ing all his tender years. His character was planted in 
this mother's life. Its roots were fed by this mother's 
love ; and those who have wondered at the truthfulness 
and earnestness of his mature character, have onl}- to 
remember that the tree was true to the soil from which it 
sprung. 



VOLUMNIA, MOTHER OF CORIOLANUS.* 



ABOUT 495 B. c, there was a famine at Rome, and 
grain arriving from Sicily, Caius Marcius, surnamed 
Ct)riolanus, for the honor to have taken the city of Corioli, 
would not sell any to the Roman people, unless they 
would sulimit to the patricians. Thereupon the Tribunes 
sought to bring him to trial, but he fled to the Volsci. 
Soon after he returned at the head of a great army, and 
laid siege to Rome. The city was in jieril. As a final 
resort, his mother, wife, and children, with many of the 
chief women, clad in deepest mourning, went forth, and 
fell at his feet. Unable to resist their entreaties, C'Orio- 
lanus exclaimed, " Mother, thou hast saved Rome, but 
lost thy son." Having given the order to retreat, he is 
said to have lieen slain by the angry Volsci. 
PERSONS OF THE SCENE. 

Tullus Avjtdhis, general of the Volseians. 
Cains Marcius (Joriolanns, a noble Roman. 
Vir(jilia,\ his wife. ) in 

Volmnnia,'\- his mother, leading young Marcius. >• mourning 
Valeria, friend of Virgilia. ) liabits. 

Attendants and others. 

*Shakespeare; " Coriolanus," Act V', Scene III. 

tAccovding to Plutarch, whose biograpliy of C. M. Coriolanus Shakespeare 
closely followed in his admirable tragedy, the name of Coriolanus' motlier 
was Volunniia; tliat of his wife, Virgilia. Dionysius, of Halicarnassus, and 
Livy, call his mother Veturia, and his wife, Volumnia, and so do the modern 
historians following the authority of those two Roman writers . 



62 The Educating Mother. 

Coriolanus. My wife comes foremost; then the honor'd 
mould 
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand 
The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affection ! 
All bond and privilege of nature break ! 
Let it be virtuous to be obstinate. — 
What is that court'sy worth ? or those dove's eyes, 
Which can make gods forsworn ? — I melt, and am not 
Of stronger earth than others. — My mother bows, 
As if Olympus to a molehill should. 
In supplication nod; and my young boy 
Hath an aspect of intercession, which 
Great nature cries, Demj not. — Let the Volsces 
Plow Rome and harroAV Italy ; I'll never 
Be such a gosling to obey instinct ; but stand, 
As if a man were author of himself, 
And knew no other kin. 

Virgilia. My lord and husband ! 
Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. 
ViT. The sorrow that delivers us, thus changed, 
Makes you think so. 

Cor. Like a dull actor now, 
I have forgot my part, and I am out. 

Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, 

Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say. 

For that, " Forgive our Romans." — Oh, a kiss 

Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge. 

Now, by the jealous queen of heaven,* that kiss 

I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip 

Hath virgin'd it e'er since. — You gods, I prata, 

And the most noble mother of the world 

Leave unsaluted ; sink, my knee, i' the earth; [Icneels. 

Of thy deep duty more impression show 

Thau that of common sons. 

Volumnia. O, stand up, bless'd! 

Whilst, ydth. no softer cushion than the flint, 

*The goddess Juno. 



VOLUMNIA. 63 

I kneel before thee, and uuproijerly* 
Show duty, as mistaken all the while 
Between the child and parent. [kneels. 

Cor. What is this ? 
Your knees to me ? to your corrected son ? 
Then let the pebbles on the hungryf beach 
rili[) the star; then let the nuitinous winds 
Strilvc the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun ; 
Murd'ring ini])ossibility, to make 
What cannot be, slight work. 

Vol. Thou art my warrior; 
I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady ? 

Cor'. The noble sister of Publicola,'| 
The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle 
That's curded by the frost from purest snow, 
And hangs on Dian's Temple — dear Valeria. 

Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours. 
Which by the interpretation of foil time 
May show like all yourself. 

Cor. The god of soldiers, 
With the consent of supreme Jove,§ inform 
Thy thoughts with nobleness ; that thou mayst prove 
To shame invulnerable, and stick i' the wars 
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,|| 
And saving those that eye thee. 

Vol. Your knee, sirrah. 

Cor. That's my brave boy. 

Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady and myself. 
Are suitors to you. 

Cor. I beseech you, peace ; 
Or, if you'd ask, rememl)er this before ; 
The things I have forsv»orn to grant may never 
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me 



*Un\voniaiiIy. 

fSterile. 

{The scheme to solicit Coriolanus was originally proposed hy Valeria. 

§Jupiter was the tutelar god of Rome. 

II Every violent blast of wind. 



64 The Educating Mother. 



Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate 
Again with Rome's mechanics ; — tell me not 
Wherein I seem unnatural ; — desire not 
To allay my rages and revenges, "with 
Your colder reasons. 

Vol. 0, no more, no more! 
You have said you will not grant us anything ; 
For we have nothing else to ask, but that 
Which you deny already. Yet we will ask ; 
Tliat, if you fail in our request, the blame 
May hang upon your hardness ; therefore, hear us. 
Cor. Aufidius, and you, Volsces, mark ;- for we'll 
Hear naught from Rome in private. — Your request ? 

Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, ou^r raiment, 
And state of bodies, would bewray what life 
We have had since thy exile. Think with thyself. 
How more unfortunate than all living women 
Are we come hither, since that thy sight, which should 
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts. 
Constrains them weep, and shake vnth fear and sorrow ; 
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see 
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing 
His country's bowels out. And to poor we. 
Thine enmity's most capital ; thou barr'st us 
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 
That all but we enjoy; for how can we, 
Alas ! how can we, for our country pray. 
Whereto we are bound ; together with thy victory, 
Whereto we are bound ? Alack ! or we must lose 
The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person. 
Our comfort in the country. We must find 
An evident calamity, though we had 
Our Avish which side should win ; for either thou 
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
With manacles through our streets, or else 
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, 
And bear the palm for having bravely shed 
Thy wife's and children's l)lood. For myself, son, 
I propose not to wait on fortune, till 



VOLUMNIA. Of) 

These wars determine ; if I cannot persuade thee 
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts, 
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 
March to assault thy country, than to tread 
(Trust to 't, thou shalt not) on thy mother's womb, 
That brought thee to this world. 

Vir. Ay, and on mine, 
That brought you forth this b(\y, to keep your name 
Living to time. 

Boy. He shall not tread on me ; 
I'll rnn away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. 

Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be. 
Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. 
I have sat too long. [insivf/. 

Yol. Nay, go not from us thus. 

If it were so, that our i-equest did tend 

To save the Romans, thereby to destroy 

The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us, 

As ])oisonous of your honor; no; our suit 

Is, that you reconcile them; while the Volsces 

May say, " This mercy we have show'd ; " the Romans, 

" This we receiv'd ; " and each in either side 

Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, " Be bless'd 

For making up this peace ! " Thou know'st, great son, 

The end of war's uncertain ; but this certain, 

That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 

Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name 

Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses ; 

Whose chronicle thus writ, — " The man was noble, 

But, with his last attemj)t, he wiped it out ; 

Destroy'd his country, and his name remains 

To the ensuing age, abhorr'd." Speak to me, son ; 

Thou hast affected the fine strains of honor, 

To imitate the graces of the gods ; 

To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air. 

And get to charge the sulphur with a bolt 

That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak ? 

Think'st thou it honoral)lc for a nobleman 

Still to remember wrung ? — Daughter, speak you ; 
5 



66 The Educating Mothjok. 

He cares not for your Aveeping. — Sj)eak thou, boy ; 
Perhaps thy childisliness will move him more 
Than can our reasons. — There is no man in the world 
More bound to his mother ; yet 'here he lets me jjrate, 
Like one i' the stocks.* Thou hast never in thy life 
Showed thy dear mother any courtesy ; 
When she (poor hen ! ) fond of no second brood, 
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, 
Laden with honor. Say, my request's unjust, 
And spurn me back ; but, if it be not so, 
Thou art not honest ; and the gods will plague thee, 
That thou restrain'st from me the duty which 
To a mother's part belongs. — He turns away ; — 
Down, ladies ; let us shame him with our knees. 
To his surname, Coriolanus, 'longs more j)ride, 
Than pity to our j^rayers. Down ; an end ; — 
Tills is the last ; — so we will home to Rome, 
And die among our neighbors. — Nay, behold us; — 
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, 
But kneels, and holds up hands for fellowship, 
Does reason our petition with more strength 
Than thou hast to deny't. — Come, let us go ; 
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother ; 
His wife is in Corioli, and his child 
Lilvc him by chance ; — yet give us our dispatch. — 
I am hush'd imtil our city be afire. 
And then I'll speak a little. 
Cor. O, mother, mother ! 

\Jiolding Volumnia by the hand, silent. 
What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope, 
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
They laugh at. O, my mother, mother ! O ! 
You have won a happy victory to Rome ; 
But for your son, — ^believe it, O, believe it. 
Most dangerously you have witli him prevail'd, 
If not most mortal to him. But let it come ; — 

*Keeps me in a state of ignominy, talking to no purpos j. The stocks were 
a frame in which feet and hands of criminals were confined. 



Hkdwk!. G7 

Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 
I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, 
Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard 
A mother less ? or granted less, Aufidius ? 

Auf. I Avas mov'd withal. 

Cor. I dare be sworn, you were. 
And, sir, it is no little thing, to make 
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, 
What peace you'll make, advise me ; for my part, 
I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you ; and, pray you. 
Stand to me in this cause. — O, mother, wife ! 

At(f. I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy and thy honor 
At difierence in thee ! out of that I'll work 
Myself a former fortune. \_a-^!(J('.'-'' 

l^The ladies malce signs to Coriolaniis. 

Cor. Ay, by and by; [to Vo/iimnia, Virgilia, etc. 

But we will drink tcjgether ; and you shall bear 
A better witness back than words, which we, 
On like conditions, will have counter-sealed. 
C/ome, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve 
To have a temple built you;j" all the swords 
In Italy, and her confederate ai'ms. 
Could not luive made this peace. \exeunt. 



HEDWIG, MOTHER OE THE CHILDREN 
OE Wn.LIAM TELL.j 



THE aboriginal cantons, Schwytz, ITri, and Unterwald, 
lived directly under the protection of the German 
Empire. But Emperor Albert wanted them to sub- 
nut to the dominion of his dynasty. When they declined 

"Aufidius was Commander-in-Chief of the Volscians, before Coriolanus 
deserted to them; he will talco advantage of this concession of Coriolanus to 
restore liimself to liis former power. 

t Plutarch informs in that a temjde dedicated to the Fortune of the La- 
dies, was built, on tliis occasion, by order of the Senate. 

X "William Tell," by Fr. Schiller; translated by Th. Martin. 



68 The Educating Mother. 



to do so, he appointed Austrian governors for their 
country, who oppressed them. Gessler, one of them, set 
up (about 1307) a liat in the market-place at Altdorf, in 
Canton Uri, and commanded all to bow to it in homage. 
William Tell, passing by with his little son, refused this 
obeisance. Brought before Gessler, he was doomed to 
die unless he could shoot an arrow through an apple 
placed on his boy's head. Tell pierced the apple, but 
the tyrant, noticing a second arrow concealed in his belt, 
asked its purpose. " For thee," was the rei)ly, " if the 
fii'st had struck my son." Enraged, Gessler ordered him 
to a prison upon the opposite shore of the lake. While 
crossing, a storm arose, and in the extremity of the dan- 
ger Gessler unloosed Tell, hoping by his skill to reach 
the land. As they neared the rocky shore, Tell leaped 
out, and, hiding in the glen, shot Gessler as he passed. 

ACT III, SCENE I. 

PERSONS OF THE SCENE. 
William Tell. 
Hedioig, his wife. 

miMm. } '^^^*^^'' ^°"^' P^^yi"g "^^*^^ ^ ^^^^^^ cross-bow. 

[Tell fakes his ^ap. 
Hedw. Whither away? 
Tell. To Altdorf, to your father. 

[Tell takes up his cross-how and arrotvs. 
Hed.iv. Why take your cross-bow with you ? Leave it 

here. 
Tell. I want my right hand, when I want my bow. 

[The hoys return. 
Walt. Where, father, are you going? 
Tell. To grand-dad, boy — 
To Altdorf Will you go? 
Walt. Ay, that I Willi 



Hedwig. 69 

Hediv. The Viceroy's there just now. Go not to Alt- 

dorf! 
Tell. He leaves to-day. 
Hcdiv. Then let hiui first lie gone. 
Cross not his path. You know he bears v& grudge. 
O stay away to-day. (jro hunting rather! 
Tr)l. What do you fear? 
JJffJir. I am uneasy. Stay. 
Te//. Why thus distress yourself without a cause ? 
Hediv. Because tliei'e is no cause. Tell, Tell, stay 

here. 
Tell. Dear wife, I gave Jue i)roniise I would go. 
Hediv. Must you — then go. But leave the boys with 

me. 
Walt. No, mother dear, I'm going with my father. 
Hedw. How, AValter! Will you leave your mother 

then? 
Walt. I'll bring you pretty things from grandpapa. 

[exit with his father. 
Wilh. Motlier, I'll stay witli you. 
Hedw. \_embraciiir/ him'] Yes, yes, thou art 
My own dear child. Thou'rt all that's left to me. 

[she goes to the gate of the court, and looks anxiously 
after Tell and her son for a considerable time. 

ACT IV, SCENE II. 

Baronial mansion of Attinghausen. The Baron upon a 
conch dying. Walter Furst ( Hedwig' s father), Stmtffa- 
chcr of tSchivytz, Melchthal and Baumgarten of Unter- 
wald aff ending around him. Walter Tell kneeling be- 
fore the dying man. 
Furnt. All now is over with him. He is gone. 

[Baumgarten goes to the door and speaks with someone. 
Furst. Who's there? [she insists 

Baumgarten. [returning] Tell's wife, youi^ daughter. 

That she must speak with you, and see her l)oy. 

[Walter Tell rises. 
Furst. I who need comfort — can I comfort her? 

Does every sorrow center on my head? 



70 The Educating Mother. 

Hedw. \_furcing her ivaij iii] 
Where is my child ? Unhand me ! I must see him. 

Stauff. Be calm ! Eeflect you're in the house of death ! 

Heclw. \_fallin(i upon her hoy's nec1c\ 
My Walter ! Oh, he yet is mine ! 

Walt. Dear mother! 

Hedw. And is it surely so? Art thou unhurt? 

[rjaz'mrj at hhn ivith anxious tenderness. 
And is it possible he aim'd at thee? 
How could he do it? Oh, he has no heart — 
And he could wing an arrow at his child ! [it. 

Furst. His soul was rack'd "wdth anguish when he did 
No choice Avas left him but to shoot or die ! 

Hedxv. Oh, if he had a father's heart, he would 
Have sooner perish'd l)y a thousand deaths ! 

Stauff. You should be grateful for God's gracious care 
That ordered things as well. 

Hedw. Can I forget 
What might have been the issue? God of Heaven ! 
Were I to live for centuries, I still 
Should see any boy tied up,— his father's mark, — 
And still the shaft Avould quiver in my heart ! 

Melch. You know not how the Viceroy taunted him ! 

Hedw. Oh, ruthless heart of man! Offend his pride. 
And reason in his breast forsakes her seat; 
In liis blind Avrath he'll stake upon a cast 
A child's existence and a mother's heart ! 

ACT V, SCENE II. 

Interior of Tells cottage. A fre hvrning on, the hearth. 

The open door shows the scene otdsidc. Hedwig, Walter 

and Wilhelm. 

Hedw. Boys, dearest boys ! your father comes to-day, 
He lives, is free, and Ave and all are free! 
The country OAves its liberty to him ! 

Walt. And I, too, mother, bore my part in it. 
I shall be named Avitli him. My father's shaft 
Went closely 1)y my life, but yet I shook not. 



Hedwig. 71 

Heclw. \emhracmg hivi] 
Yes, yes, thou art restored to me again ! 
Twice have I given thee birth, twice suffer'd all 
A mother's agonies for thee, my child ! 
But this is past — I have you both, boys, both! 
And your dear father Avill be back to-day. 

\a vionh appears at the door. 

Willi. See, mother, yonder stands a holy friar; 
He's asking alms, no doubt. 

HeduK Go, lead liiin iu, 
That we may give him cheer, and make him feel 
That he has come into the house of joy. 

[exit and returns immediately with OrCup. 

Wilh. \t() the monlc\ 
Come in, good man. Mother will give you food. 

Walt, [springs iq)~\ Mothci-, my father ! 

Hedw. () my God ! 

[is about to follow, trembles, and stops. 

Willi, [running after his brother'] My father! 

Walt, [u'ithonti Thou'rt here once more. 

Wilh. [wit hold} My father, my dear father ! 

Tell [withoid'] 
Yes, here I am once more. Where is yoiu- mother? 

[they enter. 

Walt. There at the door she stands, and can no further, 
She trembles so with horror and with joy. 

Tell. O Hedwig, Hedwig, mother of my children ! 
God has been kind and helpful in our woes. 
No tyrant's hand shall e'er divide us more. 

Hedw. [falling on his necli\ 

Tell, what have I suffered for thy sake ! 
Tell. Forget it now, and live for joy alone. 

I'm here again with you ! This is my cot ! 

1 stand again on mine own hearth ! 

JVilh. But father. 
Where is your cross-bow left? I see it not. 

Tell. Nor shalt thou ever see it more, my boy. 
It is suspended in a holy place, 
And in the chase shall ne'er be used again. 



72 The Educating Mother. 

Hedw. O Tell, Tell! 

\ste2')S bach, dropping Im hand. 

Tell. What alarms thee, dearest wife ? 

Hedtv. How — how dost thou return to me. This hand 
Dare I take hold of it ? This liaud — O God ! 

Tell, [^w it h firmness and animation^ 
Has shielded you, and set my country free ; 
Freely I raise it in the face of Heaven. 



THE MOTHER OF JOSEPH HAYDN, 

THE CELEBRATED GERMAN 

COMPOSER.* 



IN the almost unknown hamlet of Rohrau, situated on 
the frontier of Hungary and Austria, a few miles 
from Vienna distant, there once lived a j^oor wheelwright 
named Haydn, a humble man of no particular mark, 
but possessed of the usual German passion for music. 
The organ was his favorite instrument, though he could 
play on the violin. Among his children was a boy called 
Joseph. He was born in March, 1732, and at the time 
this story begins was three years old. Now, as the good 
artisan, in spite of his industry, often was in -want of 
work, in the distant village, he resolved to do like so 
many others, and to set out on Sundays and holy-days, 
in order to make music, with his wife, on the road or in 
the tavern. The father i:)layed then the violin, and the 
mother accompanied him on the harp and witli her songs. 
She had a sweet, pure voice, and sang the simjilc old 
German songs with feeling and expression. AVe do not 
know what the songs were. They may have been mere 



"The Tone Masters, Handel & ITaydn," by Cliailes Barnard; "Mozart, 
the Life of an Artist," by lleribert llau, vol, 2. 



Mother of Joseph Hadyn. 73 

country ballads, and some airs not suited to the liour. 
Be that as it may, to the lioy his mother was an angel 
singing heavenly airs. But to sit idle while his mother 
sang did not meet his infantile views of music. The trio 
must l)ecome complete, llv, the small l)oy, nuist luiitc 
with tlie grown folks in the performance. He coidd liot 
sing nor play on any instrument. A little board [>roppe(l 
on the neck, just like a violin, and a little stick used as 
a l)ow, made his instrument, nnd with liis duml) music 
lie joined in the now complete (piartette. Week after week 
the silent iiddle scraped through tlie music. Nol)ody 
laughed, though it was really a very fimny sight — annis- 
ing, perhaps, to us, but to the child and his parents 
downright earnest. 

One Sunday afternoon tlie school-master of tlie near 
town, Haimburg, chanced to })ass by at the concert. He 
Avas much pleased with the music of the })arciits, but the 
cliild, only three years old, excited even more his atten- 
tion. He did not laugh at the child, for there was some- 
thing quite wonderful about the mock violin. The time 
marked by the l^oy's Avooden bow was as exact as a 
watch. He paused when the father paused, and tlic 
mother sang solo, and tlien fell in again precisely witli 
the father. Verily there must be music in the child. 

This teacher, who is now only known as Frank, Avas 
a nmsician of some merit. When the boy was five years 
old, he suggested to his father that the talent of the ciiihl 
should be cultivated, and offered to take him home witli 
him to his own town of Haimburg, and instruct him in 
music. The parents consented, and the little felloAV set 
out for Haimburg and music. Instruction in singing, 
upon the violin and other instruments, and in Latin, was 



74 The Edttcattng Mother. 



here given to him, something his father's humble cir- 
cuiBstances would never have enabled him to procure. 
Frank used him like his own child. The boy's style of 
singing in the church choir every Sunday attracted the 
attention of musical people who heard him. 

When he was two years in Haimburg the imjjcrial 
organist, Renter, who was also leader of the orchestra in 
the Cathedral of Viemia, paid a visit to the dean in 
Haimburg. The priest liked the ])()y, and as he 
had a good voice, and sang correctly, he recommended 
him to the music director. He was examined, and Mr. 
Renter took him, after having deliberated Avith his jiar- 
ents, to Vienna, in order to sing as chovir-ter in the ca- 
tliedral. And now began little Joseph's life of trial, study, 
and labor in his favorite art, till, after many years of 
toil, privation, and want, he became one of the greatest 
composers of Germany, Avho gained immortal glory by 
his oratorio, "The Creation." 



SOPHIE HUGO, MOTHER OF VICTOR 

HUGO, THE GREATEST FRENCH 

POET IN OUR CENTURY.* 



JOSEPH HUGO, the father of Victor Hugo, was first 
captain, later general, in the French army. He set 
his children a fine example of duty, being ever their 
instructor in the paths of honor. 

Madame Sophie Hugo, their mother, was the daughter 
of a wealthy shi2>owner at Nantes, and a cousin of 
Coustantin Fran9ois, Coimt de Chasseboeuf, universally 

* " Victor Hugo and His Time," by A. Barbcu, translated by E. E. Frewer, 
New York, 



Sophie Hugo. 75 



known as Volney, the renowned author of " The Ruins." 
The parents had three sons, of whom Victor Avas the 
youngest, born 1802. He was the greatest and most 
productive French poet in this century. To his best 
works belong "Lucrece Borgia," "Hernani," "Ruy 
Bias," and " Les Miserables." The latter work, in which 
Hugo pleads and advocates the cause of the poor and 
miserable, was published (1862) simultaneously in Paris, 
Brussels, Leipsic, London, Milan, Madrid, Rotterdam, 
Warsaw, Pesth, and Rio Janeiro. Seven thousand copies 
w'ere issued in the original Paris edition, every one of 
which was sold within two days, and in a fortnight after- 
wards 8,000 more were ready. Copies of foreign transla- 
tions were issued to the number of 25,950 ; on the whole, 
the circulation inay l)e estimated to have been hundreds 
of thousands, and the book may be reckoned as one of the 
most wonderful successes of the kind that has ever been 
known. Emperor Louis Napoleon exiled Hugo (1852), 
because he proclaimed Republican principles from the 
Tribune. A price of 25,000 francs w^as offered to any- 
one who would either kill him or arrest him. He went 
to Brussels, and from there to England, where he lived 
nineteen years as an exile. At the downfall of the second 
empire he returned to his country, where he W'as re- 
ceived Avith enthusiasm. He died eighty-three years old 
(1885), and was interred in the church of St. Genieve, 
the temple of honor of the great French citizens. No 
d()ul)t th'it, besides the extraordinary talents of Victor 
Hugo, the education which his parents, especially his 
mother, imparted him, also has contributed to shape his 
remarkable charactei> and life. Therefore follows here 
a short narrative of the exertions which his mother un- 



76 The Educating Mother. 

derwent iu the education of her children generally, and 
principally of Victor. 

Madame Hugo was intelligent, brave, and gentle, and 
a sincere, though by no means liigoted. Catholic, She 
was a model mother. Wlien Victor Avas born, he was a 
miserable little creature, luore dead than alive. His de- 
crcjnt condition made it indispensable that he should be 
liaptizcd at once. Madame Hugo recovered so quickly 
from her confinement that twenty-two days later she ap- 
peared as witness to the birth-register of the son of one 
of her husband's fellow-officers. She was at that date 
twenty-five years of age. The little Victor remained so 
sickly that for fifteen months after his birth, his shoulders 
seemed incapable of supporting the weight of his head. 
To the pure air of Besancon, where he was born, and to 
the untiring care and attention that lie received from his 
mother, he was indebted for his life. With the persever- 
ance characteristic of a true mother, Madame Hugo 
succeeded in rescuing her child from the very jaws of 
deatli, and he grew up to enjoy a life of healtli and vigor. 
At the age of six weeks, while it was as yet quite uncer- 
tain whether the infant could live long, he was taken 
from Besancon to IMarseilles. Here, before loJig, his 
mother was obliged to leave him, having to go to Paris. 
When she returned, her husliand received orders to take 
command of a garrison in the Isle of Elba. She accom- 
panied liini, moving from island to island. .Vfter a year 
marked with many vicissitudes, her husliand was sum- 
moned t(j join the army in Italy. Accordingly he joined 
King Joseph Napoleon, but, concerned for his family, and 
aware that they could liardly fail to suffer from a contin- 
uation of "their wandering life, ho determined to send 



Sophie Hugo. 77 



them to Paris. Here they arrived at the eud of 1 805. 
Victor was habitually so low-spirited that none except 
his mother could ever make him smile. As soon as 
peace was restored in Italy, his father again sent for liis 
wife and children, and thus, in October, 1807, they re- 
commenced their travels. The route from Paris to 
Naples was wearisome. Madame Hugo and her children 
did not remain in Italy more than a year. In 1808, 
when Napoleon had decided that the Sjianish Bourbons 
were no longer to reign, liis In-other Josejih was transferred 
from Naples to be king of Spain. Hugo's father followed 
him to Madrid ; but as lie was Avell aware of the hazard 
involved in settling in a country where war was going ou, 
and as his wife's health and his cliildren's education had 
already suffered much from their long journeyings, he 
made up his mind to part witli them for a time, and sent 
them again to Paris. 

Arrived at the capital, ]\[adame Hugo was fully re- 
solved to devote herself assiduously to the education of 
her family. Here she lived, in the most deserted quarter 
of Paris, in a large house, which was surrounded and 
shut in l)y a spacious gai'den. Victor Hugo wrote some 
reminiscences of the life of the fhmily in that house, say- 
ing : " Here, in the time of the fii'st empire, grew up the 
three brothers. Together in their work and in tlieir play, 
rough-hewing their lives regardless of destiny, they passed 
their time as children of the spring, mindful only of their 
books, of the trees, and of the clouds, listening to the 
tunudtuous chorus of the birds, but watched over inces- 
santly by one sweet and loving smile. Blessings on thee, 
oh, my mother." 

Another resident iu that household was an aged priest, 



78 Thk Eduoa'J'in*; Mothki;. 

a kind and indulgent tutor, from whom the boys learned 
a good deal of Latin, a smattering of Greek, but the 
barest outlines of history. 

Madame Hugo lived here a most retired life, entertain- 
ing none but a few intimate friends, and devoting herself 
to her children. Strict, yet tender, grave, yet gentle, 
conscientious, well-informed, vigilant, and thoroughly im- 
pressed with the imjDortance of her maternal duties, she 
was a woman of superior intellect, having, however, much 
of that masculine disposition which Plato would have 
described as " royal." She fulfilled her mission nobly. 
Tenderness, not imaccompanied by reserve, disciphne that 
was systematic and not to be disputed, the slightest of 
all approaches to familiarity, and grave discourses rej)lete 
with instruction, were the principal features of the train- 
ing which her deep afieetion prompted her to bestow 
upon her children in general — upon Victor in particu- 
lar. Altogethei", her teaching was vigorous and whole- 
some, without a touch of mysticism or of doubt, and she 
did her part to make her sons worthy of the name of men. 

Every word of Madame Hugo was listened to with 
respect, and every direction obeyed without a murmur. 
Though there were many fruit-trees in the garden, the 
boys were forbidden to touch the fruit. " But what if it 
falls ? " asked Victor. " Leave it on the ground ! " 
" And what if it is getting rotten ? " " Let it get rot- 
ten ! " And, as far as the children were concerned, the 
fruit on the ground would lie and rot. The owner of 
Madame Hugo's house was Lalande, the astronomer. He 
lived next dooi', and his garden was separated from hers 
only by some light trellis-work. Fearing that he should 
be annoyed by the children, he proposed to put up a more 



►Sonriio Hugo. 70 



substantial j)artitioi]. " You need not be afraid," said 
the mother ; " my boys will not trespass upon your prop- 
erty. I have forbidden them." No barrier of any kind 
was erected, yet neither of the brothers was ever knoAvn 
to set foot upon the landlord's ground. 

Abel, the eldest boy, Avas placed at college, the otlier 
two going daily to a scliool in the neighborhood, Avhere a 
worthy man, Le Pere Lariviere, who, in spite of his liuni- 
ble circumstances, was well informed, instructed the 
young jDcople of the neighborhood in reading, writing, 
and elementary arithmetic. Every time the two children 
returned fi'om school they had to pass through groups of 
street-boys that Avere playing in the street. No doubt 
both Victor and his brother, left to themselves, Avould 
have been ready enough to accept the invitation to join 
in the open air sports ; but their mother had forbidden 
it, and accordingly it was not to be thought of for an 
instant. 

In 1811 General Louis Hugo, the uncle of the two 
boys, came, on behalf of his brother, to accelerate the 
departure of his family to Spain. Madame Hugo told 
her children that they Avould have to know Spanish in 
three months' time. They could speak it at the end of 
six weeks. 

A journey to Madrid at that date Avas an enterprise 
attended by no inconsiderable danger. First of all, 
there Avas the entire transit of France from Paris to 
Bayonne, Avhich, though noAV to be accomplished in a 
few hours, in 1811 occupied about nine days. From 
Bayonne the family had to start for Madrid under the 
protection of the royal convoy of the quarterly stipend, 
Avhich Napoleon regularly sent his brother Joseph, and 



80 The Educjatinot Mother. 

mthout which they would liave died of starvation in 
Madrid; for though Joseph declared himself king of 
Spain, he was unable to levy any contributions, because, 
in fact, he had no possession of Spain. These stipends, 
wliich were known as le tre'sor, were most eagerly coveted 
by the Spanish guerrillas, who more than once suc- 
ceeded in capturing them, in spite of the strong escort 
that was sent to protect them oil, their transit. After a 
dangerous and wearisome journey, lasting nearly three 
inonths, and marked by diversified incidents, the details 
of wliieh Madame Hugo has j^ublished in a i:)rinted 
book, the convoy reached Madrid. Her husband, who 
Avas now a general, was absent from the city when she 
arrived. When he came back he entered Abel as one of 
King Joseph's i:)ages, and sent the two others to the 
Seminaire des Nobles. But after the disasters which 
Napoleon, in 1812, liad suffered in Russia, it was deemed 
prudent for Madame Hugo to quit Madrid. Her eldest 
son remained behind with the general; but the two 
school-boys accompanied their mother to Paris, and, 
after another journey similar to the last, they all took 
up their abode in their old quarters. Good old La- 
riviere came just as before to give the young lads their 
daily lessons. Any dangerous tendency of the teaching 
of the priest was happily counteracted by tlie gentle and 
loving good sense of the mother. The basis of her 
teaching was Voltairianism, but with a woman's positiv- 
ism, she did not concern herself to instill into her sons 
the doctrines of any sjiecial creed. 

Not content with tending the mental and moral edu- 
cation of her children, Madame Hugo took mucli pains 
to develop their luuscular powers, insisting upon their 



Sophie Hugo. 81 



doing a certain amount of gardening work, in spite of its 
being by no means to their taste. But, while they wei'e 
thus rejoicing in their comparative freedom from re- 
straint, they were alarmed at the project of being again 
immured within the restraint of a college, the head 
master of which held it necessary to shut up young peo- 
ple in order to make them work. The mother finally 
decided on keeping her sons at home. But she never 
allowed them to be idle ; she had them taught to use 
their hands, and they learned to do some carpentering 
and to paper their own rooms. Occasionally a little girl 
of thirteen or fourteen years came to play in the garden, 
and on those days the heart of Victor beat more rapidly 
than was its wont, for then commenced his earnest, 
tender, deep regard for the lady who afterwards became 
his wife. Her name was Adele, daughter of the minis- 
ter of police, Fouche. 

In 1814 the imperial throne of Napoleon fell down, 
and the Bourbons were restored. Madame Hugo firmly 
believed that they would restore to France the liberty 
by relieving the land from the imperial oppression. 
Victor, being yet a child, had neither the right nor the 
power to argue with his mother ; he yielded to her with 
all reverence. Subsequently it was his father who, as 
veteran, in his turn influenced his mind. His mother 
was, moreover, an enthusiastic admirer of Voltaire, and 
the boy, through sympathy with her, satirized the monks, 
and, ceasing to be a Catholic, he became a freethinker^ 
always, however, remaining a sincere deist. 

In 1817, Victor, when he was only fifteen years old, 
without communicating his intention to anyone, made up 
his mind to compote for the poetical prize that was 




82 The Educating Mother. 



annually offered by the Acadeniie Fran^aisc. The suli- 
ject projiosed Avas, " The Advantages of Study iu Every 
Situation of Life." Unfortunately, iu the course of the 
j)oem, the juvenile author introduced the couplet: — 

"And though the thronging scenes of life I shun, 
For me three lustrums scarce their course have run."* 

This avowal raised the suspicion of tlie judges, and 
the Academicians took the lines as an affront to their 
dignity. Accordingly the j^i'izes were awarded to three 
other competitors, and only an " honorable mention " 
was awarded to Victor Hugo, although there was little 
doubt that his was the most meritorious of all the com- 
positions that had been sent in. When the verses were 
read in public, the decision of the judges did not avail 
to i^revent his production from being received Avith the 
loudest ajjplause. In the report that Avas published 
there appeared a paragraph to the effect that if M. 
Hugo was really only as old as he ^-epresented, he de- 
served some encouragement from the Academy. This at 
once aroused Madame Hugo's indignation. She sent a 
categorical statement to the Secretary of the Academy, 
who had drawn np the report, and he replied that if 
the author of the poem had really spoken the truth, he 
should be very pleased to make his acquaintance. INIore 
indignant than ever, the mother hurried off Avith her son 
to the Secretary, and showed him the register of birth of 
Victor. The secretary Avas a little ashamed, and could 
only stammer out the explanation, that he " could never 
have supposed it possible." 

'A lustrum, a Roman ilivJsioii of time, was the space of five years. 



Sophie Hugo. 



The next year Hugo became a prize-winner in the 
Jeux Floraux — celebrated games in Toulouse. One of 
the j)oenis by which he won the prizes was composed in 
a single night, and under circumstances that make it a 
touching tribute of filial affection. Madame Hugo was 
suffering from inflammation of" the chest, and her two 
yoiuiger sons were taking their turn to sit up with her at 
night. In the course of the evening, when it was Victor's 
turn to remain in her room, the mother, knowing that the 
following day, according to the rules of the competition, 
was the latest on which contributions could l)e received^ 
alluded to his composition, supposing it to have Ijeen duly 
sent off. Victor was ol)liged to confess that the ode had 
not been Avritteu, and })leaded that he had had- too many 
occupations to be able to attend to it. She rebuked him 
gently, but tlie youth could see plainly enough that she 
laid herself down with a feeling of sore disappointment 
weighing on her heart. 

No sooner was she asleep than Victor set to work ; he 
wrote diligently all through the night, and when she 
awoke at day-break he had the complete ode to lay be- 
fore her as a morning greeting. The manuscript that 
was sent forthwith to Toulouse, went after being first be- 
dewed with a mother's tears. 

Victor's general studies were now so far advanced that 
he was cajiable of entering the Ecole Polytechnique. 
In his own mind, however, he was convinced that a mili- 
tary life was not in the least his vocation, and both he 
and his brother begged not to be ol)liged to present them- 
selves at the examination. Only Avith extreme reluctance 
did General Hugo acquiesce in their desire ; but he with- 
drew the moderate allowance he had hitherto made them 
and left them to their own resources. 



84 The Educatixg Mother. 



When the genera) was reduced to half pay (1820j, 
Madame Hugo Avas o1)liged to rent a cheaper residence. 
Here the distinguished poet Lamartine saw Victor, and 
published this rej)ort of his visit: " I found myself on the 
srround-tloor of an obscure house at the end of a court. 
There a grave, melancholy mother ^vas industriously in- 
structing some boys of various ages — her sons. She 
showed us into a low room a little way aj^art, at the 
farther end of which, either reading or Avriting, sat a stu- 
dious youth mth a fine, massive head, intelligent and 
thoughtful. This was Victor Hugo, the, man Avhose pen 
can now charm or terrify the Avorld." 

Victor's greatest plea.sure was to accompany his mother 
to ]\Iinister Fouche's house, and there he spent long even- 
ings in unspoken admiration of the maiden to whom his 
whole heart was devoted. It ^vas not long before these 
admiring glances were noticed by the parents, to Avhom 
the danger of encouraging such a j^assion was apparent, 
as both the young people were of an age Avhen marriage 
was out of the question. By mutual consent the two 
families broke off all intimacy for a time. Victor lived 
confident of his future happiness ; but in the midst of hi ; 
anticipations he was overwhelmed by a terril^le blow. 
His mother took cold, inflammation of the chest again set 
in, and this time ncj devotion on the part of her sons 
could arrest the malady. The fond mother died on the 
27th of June, 1821. Hugo had lost a mother who to 
him had been more than a mother, inspiring him with his 
love for the beautiful and his reverenc3 for the good. 



The Duchess of Kent. 8,1 



THE DUCHESS OF KENT, MOTHER 

OF QUEEN VICTORIA, OF 

ENGLAND* 



THE father of Queen Victoria of England was Ed- 
ward, Duke of Kent; and lier mother, Victoria 
Maria Louisa, daughter of the Duke of Saxe-Coburg. 
Left a \Yidow when her infant was but eight montlis old, 
the duchess devoted herself to the great purpose of train- 
ing her daughter to be worthy of the crown which it 
seemed ])robable she might wear. 

The ordering and training of Queen Victoria was en- 
tirely the AV(jrk of her wise-hearted mother. Before the 
liirtli of the child she left her own home in Germany, and 
hastened to England, so that her oftspring might be Brit- 
ish born. In spite of the remonstrances of those who 
fancied scientific knowledge was confined to masculine 
l^ractitioners, she was firm in her purpose to employ only 
Dr. Charlotte, as she Avas called, a graduated female jjliy- 
sician from Germany. And thus, under a woman's care 
and skill, Victoria was ushered into the world. The 
duchess nursed her infant at her own bosom, always at- 
tended on the loathing and dressing, and as soon as the 
little girl could sit alone, she was placed at a small table 
beside her mother's at her meals, yet never indulged in 
any but the prescribed simple kinds of food. Thus were 
the sentiments of obedience, iempennwe, and self-control 
early inculcated and brought into daily exercise. 

The Duke of Kent died in debt for money borrowed 
of his friends. The duchess instructed the little princess 
concerning these debts, and encouraged her to lay aside 

* " Distinguished Women," by Mr.^. Hale 



80 The Educating Mother. 



portions of money, which might have been expended in 
the purchase of toys, as a fond to pay these demands 
against her deceased father. Thus were awakened and 
cultivated those noble virtues, justice, fidelity, j)Tude)ice^ 
with that fihal devotion which is the germ of patriotism. 
And thus, throughout all the arrangements during the 
first seven years, the order, the simplicity, the conscien- 
tiousness of the teacher, were moulding the ductile and 
impressible mind and heart of the pupil to follow after 
wisdom and do the right. Love, in her mother's form, 
was ever around the little princess ; the counsels and ex- 
amples of that faitliful mentor served to lift up the young- 
soul. 

Well Avas it that the Duke of Kent left his wife sole 
guardian over his child. The duchess could arrange 
the whole manner of Victoria's education and superintend 
it. She did do this. From the day of her husband's death 
till Victoria Avas proclaimed queen, the Duchess of Kent 
never separated herself from her daughter. They slept 
in the same apartment. The first lessons were taught by 
maternal lips, and when careful teachers Avere employed, 
still the mother Avas ever present, sharing the amasements 
and encouraging the exercises and innocent gaiety of the 
child. Thus Avas Victoria trained. Her intellectual ed- 
ucation Avas as thorough as her jDhysical and moral. 
From her cradle she Avas taught to speak three lan- 
guages, — English, German and French. In her fifth 
year the mother chose as preceptor for the princess, the 
Rev. George Davys. In the co-operation afforded by this 
gentleman Avith the Avise plans of the mother for her 
daughter's education, he evinced great excellence of 
moral character. The duchess confided in him fully. 



The Duchess of Kent. 87 

When the princess became heir presumptive to the throne, 
and it was intimated to her mother that some distin- 
guished prelate should be appointed instructor, she ex- 
pressetl her perfect approval of Dr. Davys as her daugh- 
ter's tutor, declined any change, but hinted that if a 
dignified clergyman were indispensable to fill this impor- 
tant office, there Avould be no objection if Dr. Davys 
received the preferment he had always well merited. He 
was soon afterwards made Dean of Chester. 

Besides her preceptor, Victoria had an excellent in- 
structress, the Baroness Lehzen, whose services were like- 
wise retained through the whole terra of her education ; 
and the long harmony so happily maintained between 
the mother and her auxiliaries in this important work <if 
]>reparing a sovereign to be worthy of a throne, is an ex- 
am])le worthy of consideration l)y those who would seek 
the best models for private education. 

It has been stated repeatedly, and never conti'adicted, 
that the Princess Victoria was not aware of her claims 
on the succession until a little befoi'e the death of her un- 
cle, George IV. The duchess had thus carefully guarded 
her child from the pernicious flattery of inferiors, and 
kept her young heart free from hopes or Avishes which 
the future might have disappointed. When the accession 
of King William placed her next the throne, she had 
completed her eleventh year, " and evinced abilites and 
possessed accomplishments very rare for that tender age 
in any rank of life." Says an English author: "She 
spoke French and German with fluency, and was ac- 
quainted with Italian ; she had made some progress in 
Latin ; she had connnenced Greek and studied mathe- 
matics." She had also made good proficiency in music 



88 The EDUCATrNtt Mother. 

and drawing, in both of which arts she afterwards became 
quite accomplished. Nor did she neglect the arts, sci- 
ences and employments which most conduce to the pros- 
joei'ity of a nation. So this young princess passed the 
intervening years till her majority, May 24, 1837. The 
day was kept as a general holiday throughout the kingdom. 
In four weeks from that day the sudden death of Will- 
iam IV. gave the sovereignty of the British Empire to 
this young maiden of eighteen. After the duchess had 
seen her royal daughter enthroned on a seat of State pre- 
pared for the occasion, she withdrew and left the young 
queen wth her Council. From that hour no more ad- 
vice, no farther instruction were ever offered. Tlie good 
seed had been sown at the right time ; it put forth sjdou- 
taneously. In 1838 Victoria was crowned in Westmin- 
ster Abbey. From that time onward there has been no 
diminution in her zeal. She has been a model of female 
royalty. 



ARMGART, A POOR MOTHER WITH 
SEVERAL CHILDREN.* 



ACT rv, SCENE III. 

The pass near Kussnaclit, with rochs on either side, over- 
grown with brushwood. Wilhehn Tell, later Stiissi the 
Banger, Armgart with her children, Gessler, Budolph 
der Harras, Friesshardt (« soldier'), jyeople. 
Tell, [enters ivith his crossboiv]. 

Here thro' this deep defile he needs must pass ; 

There leads no other road to Kiissnacht — here 

I'll do it — the opportunity is good. — 



* " Wilhelm Tell," by Frederic Schiller. 



Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven ! • 
Thou must away from eavth, — thy sand i^ run. 

[At; iti joined by Stiisd the Efoir/er. 

uirnignrt. [eiiferti tvifh several children, and ]jlace-i her- 
self at the entrance of the pass. 
The Viceroy not arrived ? 

Stussi. And do you Steele liini? 

Ann. Ala>*, I do ! 

Stiissi But why thus phice yourself 
Where you obstruct his passage down the pass? 

Arm. Here lie cannot escape me. He must hear me. 

Friess. \_eomhi<i hastily doaui. the pass, and calls vpon 

the staff p. 
Make way, make way ! My lord the governor 
Is coming doA\ai on horseback close behind me. 

Arm. [^u'itli animatinn'\ The Viceroy comes. 

[she goes towards the path with her children. Gessler 
and Rudolph der Harras appear upon the heights on 
horseback, and are about to pass on. Armgart throws 
herself down before Gessler. 

Ann. Mercy, lord governor ! O pardon, pardon ! 

Gess. Why do you cross me on the public road ? 
Stand back, I say. 

Arm. My husband lies in prison ; 
My wretched orphans cry for bread. Have pity. 
Pity, my lord, upon our so"C distress ! [band ? 

Harr. Who are you, woman; and who is your hu;^- 

Arm. A poor wild-hay-man of the Rigiberg, 
Kind sir, who on the brow of the abyss 
Mows do^vn the grass from steep and craggy shelves, 
To which the very cattle dare not climb. 

Harr. [to Gessler.'] 
By Heaven ! a sad and miserable life ! 
I prithee, give the wretched man his freedom. 
How great soever his offense may be, 
His horrid trade is punishment enough. 

[to Armgart. 
You shall have justice. To the castle bring 
Your suit. This is no place to deal with it. 



90 The Educating Mother. 



J.n>(. . . . No, no, I will not stir from where I 
Until your grace restore my husband to me. [stand, 

Six months already has he been in prison, 
And waits the sentence of a judge in vain. [Begone ! 

Gess. How! would you force me woman? Hence! 

Arm. . . . Justice, my lord ! Ay, justice! Thou 
art judge; 

The deputy of the Emperor — of Heaven. 
Then do thy duty, — as thou hopest for justice 
From Him who rules above, show it to us ! 

Gess. Hence, drive this daring rabble from, my sight! 

Arm. [seizing the horse's reitis.^ 
No, no, by Heaven; I've nothing more to lose. — 
Thou stirr'st not. Viceroy, from this s^pot, until 
Thou dost me fullest justice. Knit thy brows, 
And roll thy eyes — I fear not. Our distress 
Is so extreme, so boundless, that we care 
No longer for thine anger. 

Gess. Woman, hence! 
Give way, I say, or I will ride thee down. 

Anil. . . . Well do so — there — 

[throws her children and herself upon the ground be- 

[fore him. 
Here on the grouiid I lie, 
I and my children. Let the wretched orphans 
Be trodden by thy horse into the dust ! 
It will not be the worst that thou hast done. 

Harr. . . . Are you mad, woman ? 

Arm. ^ontiiniing with vehemence^ 
Many a (hiy thou hast 

Trampled the emperor's lands beneath thy feet. 
Oh, I ain ])ut a woman! AVere I man, 
I'd find some better thing to do than here 
Lie groveling in the dust. 

Gess. AVhere are my knaves? 
Drag her away, lest I forget myself. 
And do some deed I may repent hereafter . . . 
Too mild a ruler am I to this people. 
Their tongues are all too bold — 



Katharine Bora. 91 



I will subdue this stubborn mood of theirs, 
And crush the soul of liberty within them. 
I'll publish a new law throughout tlie land; 
I will— 

\_An arrow pierces him, — he puts his hand on his heart, 

(Old is about to sink — ivith a feeble voice. 
Oh God, have mercy on my soul ! 

Han: My lord ! My lord! Oh God ! what's this? 

Ann. [starts (f^).] Wheace came it? 

Dead, dead! He reels, he falls! 'Tis in his heart! 

Gess. That shot was Tell's. 
[He slides from his horse into the arms of Rudolph der 

Harras, tvlio lays him down upon the ground. Tell <ip- 

j)ea)'s above upon the rocks. 

Tell. Thou know'st the archer, seek no other hand. 
Our cottages are free, and innocence 
Secure from thee: thou'lt be our curse no more. 

[7V// disapj)parfi. People rush in. 

Stiissi. What is tlie matter? Ti'll nie what has hap- 
})en'd? 

Ar)n. The governor is shot — kill'd by an arrow ! 

iStimi. J3y Heaven, his cheek is ])ale! His life ebbs 
fast. 
See there! How pale he grows! Deatli's gathering now 
About his heart, — his eyes grow dim an<l glazed. 

Arm. [/(oA/.s- up a c/k'A/.] 
Look, children, how a tyrant dies! 



KATHARINE BORA, MOTHER OF MAR- 
TIN LUTHER'S CHILDREN.* 



KATHARINP: bora, bom 1499 and deceased 
1552, Avas, when very young, dedicated to convent 
life by her parents and placed in one. Day by day her 
hatred of life in such an establishment increased, and 



' " Fraiienspiegel," by F. Raab. 



92 The Educating Mother. 

the more because she was of noble descent. Therefore, 
a.s the Reformation of the Church began, the desire to 
be (lehvered finjin the enthrallment of tlie convent walls 
Avas roused in her and eight other nuns. Martin Luther 
contrived the plan of their deliverance. He gained, 
privately, the consent of a liurgher in Torgau. During 
the night he mounted the wall of the garden, and helped 
the nuns to pass over it. He afterward jnarried Kath- 
arine, and Avas the happiest of husbands. He never had 
reason to repent his choice. Katharine added to the 
charms of youth much sprightliness of mind. She was 
also an excellent housewife and mother, devoting herself 
carefully to the mental and moral cidtivation of her six 
cliildren, and leading them to virtue l)y her fair example. 
As she loved her husband tenderly and sincerely till his 
death, so her love of her children was the tenderest and 
most heart-felt which a good mother can exhibit. 

Her husband, who died in 154G, left her little or no 
property ; then she experienced a sad fate. The Avar of 
religion, which, one year from his death, broke out, and 
greatly disturbed the leaders of the Protestants, afflicted 
the unhappy mother also, and Avhen the besieged city, 
Wittenberg, Avhere she resided, surrendered, her situatior- 
became very disagreeable. All the faithful followers of 
the neAV doctrine left the city, and she also took to 
flight Avith her children. After she had returned Avith 
many others, her condition Avas not nuich impro\'ed. 
She Avas olsliged to rent some rooms, and to board a few 
students at a reasonable charge. In a funeral programme 
of the UniA'^ersity this passage occurs: "The lady, al- 
ready heavily charged, being a Avidow, must Avander 
about with her children among the greatest dangers, like 



Katjiaeine Bora. 93 



a banished criminal; ninny liavc treated her ungrate- 
fully ; those of whom she expected to receive benefits, on 
account of her husband's great and public merits, have 
often shamefully disappointed her." 

Katharine lived in retirement and poverty in Witten- 
berg till in 1552 the pest broke out, and the University 
was removed \o Torgau. She followed there with her 
children in order to not lose the small profit from the 
boarders. But on the journey the horses were fright- 
ened, and as, for the sake of safety, she jumped with her 
children from the w^agon, she fell into a mire, and took 
such a cold that she died December 20, 1552. She was 
interred in the church of Torgau, Avhere her tombstone 
yet can be seen. 



ROSINA KING, MOTHER OF THE 
AUTHOR.* 



ROSINA KING was horn in Urban, Moravia, at the 
lioundary of Austria, Avhero her father was a well- 
to-do farmer. In 1800 she was irarried to a vine- 
dresser in the same village. Though the daughter of a 
wealthy farmer, she had to work hard, like the women 
generally in that country. She had to do the house- 
work, and l^esides to tend to the children, t(j provide for 
the cattle, and to help in the field. She had to rise 
early in summer, at two o'clock, in order to cook, to milk 
the cow, and to prepare the children for school. Then 
she had to carry the meals to her husband, who was already 

■Some readers will call me immodest to introduce, among the model moth- 
ers, my own mother and wife. I beg their pardon; it is the first and last 
time that I speak in public of the two nearest and dearest persons I had in my 

life.— AfTUOR. 



94 ^ The Educating IMothee. 

Avorking in the vineyards, sonic four miles distant. In 
addition slie must take the baby vnih her. In the evening, 
when she returned home, she often was laden with a 
heavy bundle of grass on her back. So the summers 
went on. In -winter-time she had to do the sewinij, 
knitting, and sj)inmng for the family. Though her hus- 
band nianufactui'ed wine, she hardly drank any, or if so, 
very little of it. 

She had five boys, and as their father was compara- 
tively j^oor, they must expect that, like the sons of other 
jyooY families, when grown uji, they would be obliged to 
do military service, which Avas, in Austria, at that time, 
very severe. " It lasted fourteen years. In order to es- 
cape this fate, the first-l)orn son ought to be sent to a col- 
lege. The pai'euts, not having means to 2)ay the tuition, 
resolved upon the following expedient in order to attain 
their aim. The son of a neighbor was, in Vienna, tutor 
of the l)oys who had to sing in the choruses of the opera 
house. The father, living on good terms Avith the neigh- 
bor, persuaded him easily to recommend his little boy 
to the tutor. He had the good sense to let the little fel- 
loA\', meamvhile, be Av-ell instructed by the excellent 
school-master of the village, both in the common branches 
of the public school, and in singing and playing the vio- 
lin. The tutor of the opera singers Avanted to see speci- 
mens of penmanship of the little one. They Avere sent, 
found satisfactory, and the boy was forthwith admitted to 
the choir of the young singers. He clesii'ed to go to Vi- 
enna, and his mother, too, Avas glad to see him enter the 
career of his future fortune. But when the moment ar- 
rived that she had to part with him, her motherly heart 
broke down; she Avas sobbing Avhileshe embraced liiu), 



RosiNA King. 9^ 



but he was laughing in the anticipation of all the joys 
which att'^ndcd hiui in the golden city. But a change 
of feelings soon came there over his mind. All things 
of his new situation were strange to him ; he fell home- 
sick, and rose ofteji at night from the bed, kneeling down, 
shedding hot tears, and calling pitifully the name of his 
beloved mother. 

And she came again. After several months she paid 
him a visit, traveling fifty miles far from home, most of 
them on foot. She consoled and encouraged the child, 
and bought him a new violin and a music book. As, 
one year later, the institute in which he Avas engaged 
was bi'oken uy>, his tutor induced several patrons of poor 
boys to sujiport him for a }'ear, and the singing-master 
of the imperial chapel admitted him to the exercises of 
his school. After one year a place was vacant for a 
singing boy of the chapel. The boy applied for it, sub- 
mitted to the public examination, and was elected I'rom 
a host of candidates who met from all paits of the em- 
pire competing for the situation. He Avas indebted for 
this success to his benevolent jjatrons. He was received 
into the imperial seminar}', where the emperior of Aus- 
tria paid all expenses of his living and education. In 
this position he became acquainted with the great tone- 
masters of Vienna, Francis Shubert (who was his school- 
fbiiow), the violinist Mayseder, L. Beethoven, and others 
famous. Meanwhile his good mother still continued her 
pilgrimages to her son for many }'eai's. To his parents, 
and especially to his mother, he owes the success in his 
life. A thousand blessings on the ashes of the noble- 
hearted jiarents! 



96 The Educatimg Mother. 

ROSA MILLER, MOTHER OF THE 
AUTHOR'S CHILDREN. 



ROSA MILLER Avas born in 1811, in Mariazell, 
a famous place of jiilgrimage in Btyria, Avhere he\- 
father was an innkeeper of good standing. She was the 
last of twelve children, and got her education in Vienna. 
She possessed wonderful talents. She had but to read a 
book once to remember all of its contents. She was able 
to recite the long poem of Schiller's, " Song of the Bell," 
after having read it over twice. Once, being in the yard 
of the house, she listened to a neighbor who stood at the 
open Avindow of the second floor, and recited to another 
who stood in the yard a popular song Avhich contained 
twenty stanzas; and she Avas able to repeat them, and 
kept them also in her memory. She had memorized the 
number of inhabitants of all toAvns and cities of more 
than three thousand people. In mental arithmetic she 
Avas ahvays at the head of her class. When six. years 
old, she Avas so accomplished in all kinds of needle- Avork, 
that she AA'as employed in the first milliner shop of 
Vienna. She understood French, and read French liter- 
ature. She Avas also a good cook. 

When tAventy-tAvo years old, she folloAved her husband 
to Ziirich, in SAAutzerland, AA'here he Avas appointed 
teacher in a public school. She bore him eleven children, 
nine boys and two girls. Seven boys became soldiers, 
tAvo in the old country, Avhere both I'ose to the rank of 
general-adjutants, and five enlisted during the secession 
Avar in the armies of the United States. One of them 
Avas taken prisoner in the battle at Petersburg, and 
starved to death in the prisons of Salisbuiy, KtM'tli Caro- 



Rosa Miller. 97 

liua; :u;()tluM' lost one k\;^ in the battle at Stone River, 
Tennessee. All the children inherited a good memory 
from their mother. As her husband had no more than 
$240 salary, and some incidental earnings made by pri- 
vate lessons and publishing books, she had to do all her 
housework; and she did it cheerfully, often meanwhile 
watching and attending to her babe in the cradle. 
On one occasion, while engaged in doing the family 
washing, she received a call from two patrician ladies. 
Politely handing them chairs, she, without discontinuing 
her work, entered with zest into the conversation, nor 
forgot an instant her cradled infant. 

Of course she did not pay many visits ; she had no 
time ; she lived only for her children. As a rule, she 
went never to bed until all her children were asleep. If 
one was indisposed, she passed often many hours of the 
night at its bed. When her youngest daughter Avas a 
few months old, the babe fell sick ; then the parents sat 
up witli her during the night, the mother before, the 
father after midnight. This attention was continued 
during six Aveeks, until the child died. When the other 
girl was over twelve years old, she also was afflicted with 
a disease from which she nevermore fully recovered. 
During one winter she was day and night l)edridden. 
The readers can imagine what sacrifices her nursing: de- 
nianded from the mother. Still she never got tired nor 
out of patience. When she was lying on her death-bed, 
she took the two youngest children into her bed, and 
attended to them. Once live children were afflicted 
with the measles. She nursed them during the day and 
night, was always busied around them, and fearless of the 
infection for hersehP. Wlien her children were infants, 



98 The Educating Mother. 



she nourished them at her own breast, as A^ell as Avashing - 
and bathing them regularly. There was no sacrifice 
which she was not ready to offer for the welfare of the 
children. Once, when returning home, she was very 
thirsty ; she had still some cents left which she spent for 
cherries to take to the children, while she quenched her 
thirst with water from the public well. 

She made most of the clothing for the children. She 
sat uj) one entire night, assisted by her daughter, to 
make a new suit for one of the boys which he Avanted in 
order to take part in a school festival the following day. 

Not less was the care she took for the moral education 
of her children, in order to accustom them to cleanliness, 
frugality, obedience, concord, veracity, and honesty. 
Their food was plain, but nutritious ; dainties were not 
allowed nor indulged. There were neither pets nor 
scape-goats in the family ; she meted her love and care 
equally among all. She did Jiot teach them superstition, 
being herself free from all jirejudices of religion. When 
the Government called Dr. Friedrich Strauss, the famous 
author of the " Life of Jesus," to teach in the University 
of Ziirich, she petitioned for the introduction of the con- 
tents of his book into the public schools. 

Though she was the treasurer of all the earnings of 
her husband, she avoided needless expense, wore the 
same dress and bonnet year after year, and went never to 
pai'ties, .notwithstanding she had liked dancing nuicli 
before she married. She liked also to see plays Avhen 
she Avas young ; but although she lived but half a mile 
from the theater, she Avent there only once during her 
^\ li(jle time of married life. She never spent money for 
Avine, except the day before she died, and then because 



Rosa IMii-lkh. 90 

the physician hid recommended it to her as a medicine. 
She Avas kind-hearted. When only six years old, she 
supported her aged motlier with the money she earned 
by her needle-work. As one of her friends who ow'ed 
her $200 was in distress she remitted her debt. Her 
cousin fell mortally sick with a nervous fever; she 
nursed her by day and niglit, and was finally infected 
by the same malady, which nearly ended her own life. 
She did it because tlie mother of her friend was wealthy, 
and able to support her own mother in future when she 
would leave Vienna, and go to Switzerland. She Avas 
instructor in needle-Avork to the girls in her husband's 
school, and gaA^e the Avages she earned thereby to her 
brother-in-law in order to help him on in his studies. 

AVhen slie suffered from rheumatism, she engaged, by 
exception, a servant-girl for a fcAV months. After some 
time the girl also Avas affected Avith a disease ; now her 
mistress nursed her like her OAvn child, and not being 
able to Avalk upright, she hobbled on crutches to the 
girl's bedroom, and in this Avay she lirought her the 
meals and medicines. 

Her death Avas prematui-e, owing to an accident. She 
was only a fcAV days confined to bed. After a profound 
sleep she sat up in bed, took a little food, then having 
endiraeed and kissed her husband and children affection- 
ately, she sank back on her pilloAV and Avas dead. She 
Avas then thirty-eight years old. She died a sacrifice for 
her childi-en. The whole community folloAved her to 
her grave. Peace and rest to her ashes! Her death 
Avas an irreparable loss to her husband and children. 
Some years after she died, her husband emigrated with 
his children to America (1852). 









Part the Second. 



nOSA'S LETTERS ON EDUCATION, 



/'rv 



Ki^gfe EGPieS. 



CULTURE OF THE BODY. 

"There are only two real lioons of human life: good health 
and a clear conscience." — J. J. Rousseau's Emik. 



FIRST LETTER. 

OCCASION AND CONTENTS OF THE LETTERS. 

DEAR FRIEND: So you are in good earnest, concern- 
ing your request ! For a long time you have urged 
uic to communicate you my opinions and advice in regard 
to education ; me who want myself so much of instruction ! 
You think that because I have six children I must have 
accumulated a treasure of pedagogic Avisdom, and you 
\vould like to hear the narrative of the education of my 
children. That can be given in time ; meanwhile I will 
inform you of the views of professional pedagogues, and 
subjoin modestly only what my own meditation and ex- 
perience have taught me. True, I could direct you at 
once to those pedagogues. Except in parts few of tliem 
have written expressly for our sex, and besides you would 
not find in their single writings all that you wish to know. 
Therefore I v.'ill cheerfully undergo tlie little toil neces- 
sary to select and adjust, from several books, what will 
be most convenient to my dear friend, hoping thereby to 
be of some use to her. In my next letter I shall inform 
you of some works which arc most adapted to our sex. 
But are you not frightened liy my endeavor to ])ecome a 



104 The Educating Mother. 

letter- writer to such an extent ? And can I expect that 
you will not he annoyed hy reading dry maxims of edu- 
cation? AVell, after all, there is but one letter to read at 
a time, and I yhall take care that it be short. Generally, 
I should advise nobody to read at a sitting whole liooks 
on education; but an occasional reading of a small part, 
and reflecting earnestly on it advances, according to my 
experience, the work of education. Therefore, prepare 
yourself for a long correspodence on education, and ex- 
pect in eight days my first writing on this topic ! 

Your affectionate friend, Rosa. 

Zurich, March 11, 18- 



SECOND LETTER. 

NOTION AND DESIGN OF EDUCATION — QUALITIES OF THE EDUCAT- 
ING MOTHER — LITERATURE ON EDUCATION. 

I commence my theme with the question. What 
signifies the word "educate"? The word "educate" 
(in French " elever "), derived from the Latin " educare, 
educere," means "to raise," "to bring up," and is, like our en- 
tire language, an image which reminds us of the upward- 
tending plant. Both man and tree want culture and di- 
rection in order to attain their destination. But what is 
the destination of the child ? and in whick direction must 
it be led to attain it ? 

Its destination is the common of mankind : to 1)e hap2)y 
by a noble-minded activity. This seems to mc to be the 
only aim worthy of man for which nature may have formed 
him. Or ought our fiite to be distress and desjiair? 
Frederic Schiller says : " Nobody who in general admits 
an aim in nature will doubt that it is the happiness of 



The Culture of the Body. 105 

man though man liimself will ignore this aim in his 
morals." And the same sings in his hyuui to joy : — 

" From tlio breasts of kindly Nature 
All of joy in)))ibe the dew; 
(Jood :iiid bad alike, each creature 
Would her roseate path pursue." 

Tlierc'Core I call to yon with my cc^mjmtriot, Rousseau: 
Make your children happy in all periods of their age, 
being afraid that they die after many efforts of our care- 
fulness before they have l)een so. 
• Now, which are the qualities by which we must excel 
in order to be able to educate well our children? The 
lirst and last will forever be : Love for our children, which 
joins mildness and patience to firmness of the will, and 
shines in high faithfulness to our vocation. All fashion- 
able, small methods do n(jt supply the want of love in 
education. Salzmann, therefore, puts the example of the 
l)arents at the head of his book of " Crab's Gait ; " an ex- 
ample full of generosity, kindness, honesty, carefulness — 
and, with a word — of love. 

But, before our time, too, there were many noble- 
minded mothers who tenderly loved their children ; still 
many of them must have seen theirs sink into the grave, 
or become unhappy, because they did not understand how 
to educate them. Kn,oided<je must be joined to love; one 
cannot bless without the other. The farmer raises edible 
products, but they thrive and are finer, safer, richer, Ijy 
aid from the hand of the scientific gardener. 

Now if fitted out with these two qualities — love and 
knowledge — you carry on your work, there is no doubt 
that you will succeed well. True, it will be toilsome, but 
also full of inexpressibly sweet blessing ; the happiness of 
your children w'ill be your reward. 



106 The Educating Mother. 

According to my promise, I will still give you the names 
of some books on education from which you can derive some 
advantage. To the better ones belong : • First, " Emile," of 
J. J. Rousseau; then Salzmann's little book of "Crab's 
Gait," Niemeyer's "Principles of Education and Instruc- 
tion;" Pestalozzi's "Lienhard and Gertrude ; " J. Locke's 
"Thoughts Concerning Education," in which his object is to 
fashion a gentleman rather than a scholar, and therefore 
he lays less stress on learning than on virtue, breeding, and 
practical wisdom. Finally, "The Book of the Mother," 
written by the American lad)^, Anne Kilch. The En- 
glishmen Baines and Herbert Spencer have also j)ublished 
celebrated works on education, but they are better 
adapted for scholars than mothers. The " Lectures on 
Education," of the American, Horace Mann, the best 
American author in tliis kind of literature, are excellent 
for the use of teachers; they teacli of school education. 
On physical training the Englishman Chavasse has pub- 
lished a fine book, Chavasse's "Physical Training of 
Cliildren " (Philadelphia). 

Hermann Niemeyer's work is the best among all Ger- 
man books on education, though too extensive and learned. 
That most practical for parents is contained in the first 
lialf of the first volume. "Levana," of Jean Paul Rich- 
ter, is, indeed, explicitly written for women, but it seems 
to me only for scholarly ones. As I had heard many 
praise the work highly, I took it with great expectation 
into my hand ; but I found the author so aliorainably 
learned and witty that women like you aud I nuist often 
apply the mind to one sentence for a day in order to un- 
derstand it. No, I am pleased with Rousseau's plain 
language, who, besides, without roundabouts, directly 



The Culture of the Body. 107 

speaks out the matter. Rousseau is called by Niemeyer 
II pedagogic genius. His book " Emile " was immediately, 
when it appeared, idolized and burnt on the stake. 
Speaking of him, Schiller says : — 

INIoment of our age's shame, 

On thy country casting endless blame, 

Rousseau's grave, how dear thou art to me! 

Calm repose lie to thy ashes blest. 

In thy life thou vainly sought'st for rest. 

But at length 'twas here obtained by thee. 

When will ancient wounds be cover'd o'er ? 

Wise men died in heathen days of yore; 

Now 'tis lighter, yet they die again. 

Socrates was killed by Sophists vile, 

Kousseau meets his death through Christians' wile, 

Rousseau — who would fain make Christians men." 

Both Pestalozzi and Rousseau were Swiss. To the 
latter one his coimtry has raised a monument in our age. 
In this way time changes. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

TWO SAD CASES OF CARELESS MOTHERS. 

IMrs. L. had a baby about a year old, when the shoe- 
maker was mending boots and shoes in her house for the 
family. As he went away he left bits of leather and 
several tacks on the floor. The little child creeping 
around picked up a tack from the floor, put it into the 
mouth, as little ones are used to put everything into it, 
and swallowed the nail. It jienetrated the bowels, raising 
there a fatal inflammation. The parents perceived the 
accident too late; they sent for the physician, but he 
could not save the little patient ; the child died amidst 
terrilile pains. When it Avas buried the mother shed hot 
tears while standing at the grave of her darling, and the 



108 The Educating Mother. 

father withdrew her trying to comfort lier. But could 
he return the child to the poor mother? 

Mr.s. B. had s^ix children. One day the youngest one, 
"who was not yet able to walk, sat ])laying on the floor. 
AVlien the jnother left the room it crept around, and 
found a bundle of matches on the floor. It liit off their 
heads, Avhich Avere covered ^vith 2)hosi)horus, and gulped 
them down. On the mother's return she did not notice 
at once Avhat the child meanwhile had eaten ; it fell sick, 
and the physician was called for, Avho found out that it 
was poisoned. It could not recover, and must die. 

A LOVING MOTHER.* 

IMiss Fantine had never known either father or 
mother. She was a charming blonde, with handsome 
teeth. She was a seamstress in Paris, working for a 
livelihood, and she loved. But her lover seduced her, and 
then left her with a child. What was she to do now ? 
She needed courage, and she had it. The idea occurred 
to her of returning to her native town. There someone 
might know her, and give iier Avork. She suckled her 
child, this bent her chest, and she was coughing a little. 
In order to hide her fault, she left the cliild, whose name 
was Cosette, at jNI., in charge of a Avoman, Avho also 
had two little chikh'en, and who j^romised her to take 
good care of the child. The name of the woman was 
Mrs. Thenardier. Fantine had to pay her seventy-five 
francs for six months' nursing, in advance. She had 
saved eighty francs by hard working, and said, " I shall 
earn money at home, and as soon as I have a little I will 
come and fetch my darling." " But has the little one a 



*Victor Hugo in "Les Misevables," chap. 35. 



The Culture of the Body. 109 

stock of c-lothiiig?" asked INIr. Themirdier. "Of course 
she has clothes!," rephed Fautiue, "a dozen of everything, 
and silk frocks like a lady." "They must be handed 
over," the man remarked. "Of course they must," 
said the mother; "it would be funny if I left my 
child naked." tShe went home ou foot crying as if 
her heart was broken, and was employed in a fac- 
tory. But the foster-parents of Cosette were greedy. 
Before tlie end of the first year they demanded twelve 
francs a month for the nursing of Cosette. The mother 
submitted and sent the twelve francs. Fantine had 
been more than a year in the factory, when one morn- 
ing the forewoman handed her fifty francs and told 
her that she was " no longer engaged, and had l)etter 
leave the town. Some curious gossips had found out 
the fault of Fantine, and made it known to all. It 
was at this very time that INIr. Thenardier raised a 
claim for fifteen instead of twelve francs. Fantine was 
crushed. She was advised to see M. INIadeleine, owner of 
the factory, but did not dare do so. She set to work 
making coarse shirts for the troops, and earned at this 
sixpence a day. She sold most of her furniture, even her 
bed, and was entirely Anthout fire in winter. Excessive 
labor fatigued her, the little dry cough she had grew 
worse, and she felt a cold perspiration in her back. 

jNIr. Thenardier pressed her for more money, because 
Cosette wanted a flannel skirt. Fantine Avent to a bar- 
ber's, and removed her comb ; her splendid light hair fell 
down to her hips, ""\\luit fine hair!" the liarber ex- 
claimed. " What vnll you give me for it ? " she answered. 
"Ten francs." "Cut it off!" She bought a flannel skirt 
and sent it to Cosette. She thought, "IMy child is no 



110 The Educating} IMotiier. 



longer cold, for I have dressed her in my hair." She 
wore small round caps Avhich hid her shorn head. But 
Mrs. Thenardier gave the flannel skirt to her own child, 
and the poor Cosette continued to shiver. 

One day Fantine received from Mr. Thenardier a letter 
by Avhich he wanted forty francs, pretending that Cosette 
Avas sick from a malarial fever. A dentist offered Fantine 
tATO napoleons (forty francs) if she liked to sell him her 
two top front teeth. She shuddered, and first hesitated, 
but finally submitted to the operation, received forty 
francs for her front teeth, and sent the money to Mr. 
Thenardier. It had been only a trick of the rascal to 
get money, for Cosette Avas not ill. 

■ Fantine grew poorer and poorer, and her sickness 
increased. She had no bed left, only a mattress on the 
ground. M. Madeleine having heard her story took 
pity on her, couA^eyed her to the infirmary he had estab- 
lished in his own house, and promised her to send for her 
child. Now she felt hajipy. " I shall see Cosette," she 
said, " I shall feel the blessings of Heaven, Avhen my child 
is here; I shall look at her, and it Avill do me good to see 
the innocent creature." M. Madeleine Avent to see her 
tAvice a day, and e\'ery time she asked him: "Shall I see 
my Cosette soon? O hoAV happy I shall be!" 

But Fantine's fever became Avorse, she Avas coughing 
fearfully, and spent a jDart of the night in raving and 
talking aloud. . She Avas rapidly sinking, and after some 
nights she died. Pier last Avords AA'ere, "And Cosette?" 

HOW A MOTHER SYMPATHIZES AA'ITH HliR AVAA'WARU SON.* 

Claude MeLnotte, the son of a gardener in Lyons, saw the 

*From Bulwer Lytton's popular drama, "The Lady of Lyons," fourth act, 
first scene. 



The Culture of the Body. Ill 



charming, ricli, but proud young lady, JNIiss Pauline 
Deschaiipelles, often in the garden of her father, and fell 
in a frantic love with her. In order to make hims^elf 
Avorthy of her possession, he ajiplied fervently to sciences 
and arts, becajne a midnight student, a poet, a painter, 
and a fencer. At last he declared to her in a letter his 
love, but was scornfully refused, his lore epistle returned, 
ai^fl his messenger insulted witli blows. Two other 
adorers of the lady, wealthy patricians, were also rejected 
by her. In order to take revenge they promised Mel- 
notte, of whose failure tliey were informed, to lielp him 
to tlie possession of the lady. . They furnislied him con- 
venient dresses, besides all the money he wanted, and 
introduced him as the Prince of Como to the proud 
Pauline and lier pompous mother. The parents soon 
promised him the hand of their daughter. Tiie rites of 
mati-imony were solemnized, and INIelnotte carried the 
young bride to his humble dwelling. But liere he con- 
fes.setl to her who he was, at the same time protesting that 
he would not consider her as his wife, the marriage con- 
tract being a fraud. He returned her to lier father, and 
enlisted in the French army, where he, l^y exploits and good 
fortune, advanced to a high military rank. Pauline was 
faithful to him. After some years he returned from the 
army and saved lier father from bankruptcy, Avho con- 
sented to her marriage witli tlie gardener's son. 

\_3Ielnotte's cottage. Melnotte seated before a table, writing 

■implements, etc., etc. Duij breaking^] 

Melnotte. Hush, hush! she sleeps at last! Thank 
Heaven, for a Avhile she forgets even that I live ! Her 
sobs, Avliich have gone to my heart the whole long, des- 
olate night have ceased! all calm and still! I Avill go 
now. I will send this letter to Pauline's father. 

[enter widow, Mefnotte^s mother. 



112 The Educating Mother. 



Widow. My son, thou ha^t acted ill; but si a brings its 
own punishment. In the hour of thy remorse, it is not 
for a mother to reproacli thee. 

3Iel. What is past is past. There is a future left to 
all men, who have the virtue to repent, and the energy to 
atone. Thou shalt he proud of thy son yet. I shall 
send an express fast as horses can speed to her father. 
Farewell, I shall return shortly. 

W. It is the only course left to thee ; thou wert led 
astray, but thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right 
still, as ever it was when, in thy most ambitious hopes, 
thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother. 

Mel. Ashamed of thee ? No! Heaven bless you ! 

W. My dear Claude. How my heart bleeds for him. 

[exit. 
[Pauline looks down from above, and after a jxiuse descends. 

Pauline. Not here! he spares me that pain at last; so 
far he is considerate, yet the place seems still more des- 
olate mthout him. Oh, that I could hate him, the 
gardener's son ! and yet how nobly he — no, no, no, I w^ll 
not be so mean a thing as to forgive him ! 

W. Good-morning, madam ; I would have Avaited on 
you if I had known you were stirring. 

P. It is no matter, ma'am, your son's wife ought to 
wait on herself. 

W. My son's wife! let not that thought vex you, 
madam; he tells me that you will have your divorce. 
And I hope I shall live to see him smile again. There 
are maidens in this village, young and fair, madam, who 
may yet console him. 

P. I dare say — ^they are very welcome — and when the 
divorce is got — he will marry again. I am sure I hope 
so. [\ceeps. 

W. He could have married the richest girl in the 
province, if he had pleased it ; but his head was turned, 
poor child ; he could think of nothing but you. [weeps. 

P. Don't Aveep, mother. 

W. Ah, he has behaA^ed verj' ill, I know, but love is so 
headstrong in the yoimg. Don't weep, madam. 



TriE Culture of the Body. 113 



P. So, as you were saying — ^go on. 

W. Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma'am, he was not in his 
right senses. 

P. But he always, always [sobbing] loved — loved me, 
then? 

W. He thought of nothing else. See here, he learnt 
to i:)aint that he might take your likeness [uncovers Pau- 
line's picture]. But that's all over now. I trust you have 
cured him of his folly ; but, dear heart, you have had no 
breakfast ! 

P. I can't take anything ; don't trouble yourself. 

W. Nay, madam, be persuaded ; a little coflee will re- 
fresh you. Our milk and eggs are excellent. I will get 
out Claude's coffee-cuj), it is real Sevres ; * he saved up 
all his money to buy it three years ago, because the name 
of Pauline was inscribed on it. 

P. Three years ago ! Poor Claude ! — Thank you ; I — 
think I will have some coffee 



THIRD LETTER. 

MEANS OF PHYSICAL CULTURE— AIK, WATER, WASHING AND 
BATHING, LIGHT AND WARMTH, CLOTHING AND BEDDING. 

The seat of all suffering is the body ; how could Ave, 
then, be indifferent to its condition? What mother is 
not afflicted by sorrow if one of her darlings falls sick ? 
Sickness is the harbinger of death ; what mother is not 
set trembling by it for the life of her cliild ? To the con- 
trary, how relieved and overjoyed she is at the aspect of 
healthy, blooming children, full of sprightliness and life ! 
That weakness and disease of the body also prevent 
mental culture ; that the mind w'ants its Ijodily companion 
to accomplish its designs ; that obstinacy, irritabihty, and 
laziness of the children have often their source in the 
unnatural condition of the body : I shall keep silence, as 

*In Sevres is a famous manufactory of fine chinawares. 



114 The Educating Mother. 

you would persuade yourself of the importance of the 
physical culture already by my preceding remarks. But 
from those follows also our duty to take all care of the 
life and good health of our children. Principally it is 
you, being the mother, from whom both depend iji the 
first periods of life. The sad fact that a fourth of all 
children who are born annually, die in the year after 
their birth, results, in a great measure, from the ignorance 
of the mothers as how to manage the body of the infant. 
Therefore I shall deliver you the most necessary advices 
concerning this part of education. 

The welfare of the child ought to be considered by 
the parents, especially by the mother, already Ijefore its 
birth. The moderate enjoyment of the connubial love is 
the condition of healthy, talented children. During 
pregnancy have regard to dressing and food ; then avoid 
grief, sorrow, all impressions of strong passions; take 
care of violent motion and concussion. Now Ave sup- 
pose that the child is born, that it rests in your arms. 
Several powers now exert their influence upon its body, 
— air, Avater, light, warmth, and food. 

Air, Pure air is the first condition for the natural 
course of vital process ; Avithout it there is no beauty, no 
cheerfulness, no strength imaginable. Men are like 
plants. Air is sometimes even a remedy, e. rj., for the 
rickets and scrofula. Therefore, let the children often 
move in the open, and always in the pure air. Keep 
far from them everything which infects the atmosphere. 
The nursery ought to be spacious, clear, dry, and fre- 
quently ventilated. 

Water is not only the healthiest drhik for children, 
but, outwardly used, strengthens their body, refreshes their 



The Culture of the Body. 115 

limbs, cleiuis the surface of the skin, and fiu'tliers tli(> 
perspiration. ('()nse(piently, it is one of the most indis- 
pensable maternal duties to wash and liathc. the littk*. 
ones frequently. Batlie your childnMi almost every (hiy 
till the fourth year, first in warm water, as warm as your 
elbow eau stand it; then let it beeome l)y degrees more 
and more te[)id. I'^romthe fourth year forward, wash, even 
as frecjuently as before, tlieir liead and whole body witli 
a clean sjxmge ; even then," batliing nuist not 1)e entirely 
left undone. Moreover, is it necessary to mention still 
expressly that you must not spare all this time fresh 
linen ? 

Lif/ht and tiyinnfh are to the child iis indispensable as 
to the flower; but it is not easy to hit always the right 
measure of both. New-born ones should rest with the 
mother. The feet want particular care; they should 
never be chilled. A celebrated Dutch physician, I)i-. 
Boerhaave, held the following rule to be the quin- 
tessence of all medical wisdom : — 

"Wilt thou become old, 
Keep the feet warm, the stomach empty, the head cohl." 

But a too high degree of heat nuist also be avoidefl ; 
for instance, a light, thin necktie, a jacket Avhich reaches 
to the neck, and does not fit tight, finally a light little 
hat; that is all that is wanted in a cohl climate. The 
limbs ought tt) be unconstrained by the clothing. There- 
fore Jean Paul says, " Let the boys run barefoot." The 
pantaloons ought to be wide and comfortable ; but before 
the third year they are unnecessary. Little children 
may sleep on feather beds; from the sixth year forward 
they should have blankets or quilts of cotton; under- 



116 The Educating Mother. 

beds, filled with feathers, cau sooner be removed. Till 
then they may also sleep in warmed rooms. 

Pertaining to the use of light, only a few words are 
necessary. It is hurtful if the beds are set in such a 
way that the sun rays or the moonlight strike directly 
the eyes of the children. Window curtains shelter them 
against such an annoyance. The cradle ought to be 
placed in such a manner that very bright objects cannot 
strike the eye of the child from the side, lest it turn 
squinting. 



ILLUSTRATIONS* 

Mrs. Eve was taken with the fancy that nothing was 
more conducive to her child's health than warmth. 
Therefore she let her room be excessively heated. Usu- 
ally heating began in the middle of September and was 
continued till the beginning of June. The child had to 
sleep in this room. Perhaps it had also a warming-bottle, 
and was so bundled up in cushions that it dripped Avith 
jiersjiiration. The child grew more and more feeble, and 
finally, as the servant-girl carried it by mistake into a 
draught of air, it caught a choking rheum, and died. It 
Avas a plant which was raised in a room, and withers as 
soon as it is exposed to the open air. 

Her sister thought : " I will take care of that ; my 
child must betime be used to cold." For that reason she 
let the nurse carry out her little sou in the fiercest 
weather, and sometimes bathed him in water cold as ice. 
For the rest, she heated her room as much as her sister. 
The child had also no lighter bedding than the children 

*JIost of the illustrations are taken from Siilzmami's book, 
"Crab's Gait." 



TiTE C't'LTURK OF THE BoDY, 117 



of her sister. Consequently, as once Lis mother had un- 
dressed liini of tlio shirt wliicli di:ii)[)ed from sweatiiiii', 
and held him into a tub filled Avith eold water, he dis- 
toi'ted the eyes, and followed his little cousin into eternity. 

A REASONABLE PHYSICIAN. 

Another said to the physician who paid her a visit : 
"God charged ine with a heavy cross. Look here at 
the three poor creatures ! The eyes of one are closed by 
ulcerati(»u; this one has swollen legs, and the third 
suffers from pains in the ears." The physician answered : 
" jMy dear ma'am, that is no cross, l)ut a calamity which 
you charge yourself with. Wherefijre that wash-tul) in 
the nursery? and these shirts you attached round the 
stove? Hereby the whole room nuist become entirely 
damp. Look, how wet the Avails are. Can you under- 
stand that you deprive, thereby, your poor children of 
their health ? And Avherefore these beds ? Your chil - 
dreu slee]) in them? Alas, my dear! you are the mur- 
deress of your children, because you do not let them 
enjoy fresh tiiv. If you want to wash, do it in the yard, 
or u}) the loft ! There hang u]) the wash ! Let the chil- 
di-en slee[) in a bedroom, and keep the windows open 
every day that tlie air can pass through. I warrant you 
that you then will have healthy children. 



FOURTH LETTER. 

CONTINUATION — NOURISHMENT — SUCKLING OF THK CIIIf-D — PLAN 
OK DIET FOR CIIILOREN. 

The food you give to the children must be clean, and 
dealt out to them neither too scantily nor too cojiiously. 
Xot that what we eat nourishes us, but Avhat we digest ; 
from the outward extent you cannot surely infer the 



118 The Educating Mother. 



interior health of the body. Nobody is born a glutton, 
but many are raised so. So mucli in general. Now 
some words on the nourishment in the first period ofiife: 
The wdiolesomest nourishment for the new-born child 
is deposited by Nature in the bosom of the mother. 
Therefore every mother ought to suckle her child her- 
self Nature has given to woman breasts and milk in 
order to enable her to nourish her children. Only sel- 
dom (not, as Niemeyer has it, often). Nature releases 
the mother of this sweet duty; only few mothers are 
lacking the strength and milk-stuff to fulfill it. Its non- 
performance, anyhow, causes harm to both the mother 
and child; sometimes even the most painful of all fe- 
male diseases, cancer of the Avomb, is the result vi' liav- 
ing neglected this duty to which nature has boimd 
woman. Some hours after the "delivery the suckling 
may and should be put to the breast. For the first 
montlis it is most advisable to keep the child only by 
the breast; this does not exceed the strength of a 
healthy mother; but, in this case, she must live on milk- 
giving food. In later time the suckling receives, be- 
sides the breast, mush of biscuit, rolls or sago-powder. 
Not till in the eighth or ninth month, when the teeth 
appear, is it time to Avean it by degrees. For the rest 
of infancy the following plan of fare can serve you as an 
example: For breakfast, cow-milk (still warm from tlie 
cow, if possible) ; at i> o'clock, fruit, with bi-ead or 
marmalade of plums ; at noon, soup, some meat and 
vegetables, <jr rice, bai'ley-groats, etc., etc., l)esides water 
or well-fermented small-beei- ; at 4 o'clock the same as at 
forenoon ; supper, temperate ; an hour after it — to bed. 



The Culture of the Body. 119 



ILLUSTRATION. 

If there was ever one Avho cherished his children, IVIr. 
Fhibby certainly was the man. AYhen he thought that 
one of them would sooner or later die, he was inconsol- 
able. For that reason he chose all their provisions 
with great care. 

"Milk," he used to say, "must not be given to chil- 
dren on an}' account, for it causes slime. Some cups of 
coffee are tlie most wholesome bi'eakfast. Fruit con- 
tains too iiiucli acid, there are examples of children who, 
having eaten fruit, died of diarrhoea. Mary, never at- 
tempt to give the cliildi'en fruit. I don't tolerate such a 
thing in my house. I would not risk bread and butter, 
either; butter, being an oily substance, is apt to hurt 
the stomach. Dry bread breeds worms. Indeed, an 
almond cake is the best breakfast for children." 

His children are not permitted to eat vegetables, by 
no means ! They puff' up and press the stomach. A 
Avell-spiced soup and pori are good nutriment for them. 
Water weakens the stomach, but Avine and beer give 
them strength. It is also conducive to children to give 
them, after dinner, some cups of tea. 

In this Avay Mr. Flabby was used to talk, and in this 
manner he brought up his children. Still he enjoyed 
little jjleasure from them. There was no growth in 
them; their complexions were pltle, their limbs feeble. 
They seldom had a wish to mingle in the merry jdays 
of other children. The one died from a cold drink, and 
tlie other still lives, thouigh he is unlit for any Idnd of 
work. 



120 Tiu: Educating Mother. 

FIFTH LETTER. 

CONCLUSION — MOTION — ROCKING IN THE CRADLE — PLAYS — GYM- 
NASTIC EXERCISES — REST. 

Nourishment and motion botli are means, almost 
equally necessary, to conserve life, health and strength 
of the body. A sedentary life causes thick blood ; this, 
physical disorder and melancholy ; this, diseases, despair 
and — death. Hence, what are most book men ? Feeble, 
sickly persons. Now, children like to move around. 
Oh, grant them motion ! The suckling wants already 
liberty of limbs, let him have it. Do not tie his hands 
and feet, as with fetters ; he ought to be permitted to pull 
and stretch them. He should sometimes be left lying 
on the bed, untied, free to stir about. Later, from the 
ninth month, let him crawl upon cloth and carpets ; 
give him, also, a ball for that. Rousseau lets Emile 
learn to walk in the grass. 

Rocking of^ children in the cradle is, according to 
some jDedagogues, detrimental, or, at best, rather super- 
fluous. But, after all, nothing can be objected to, sup- 
posing that a child be not rocked too frequently nor too 
violently. If older pupils are kept closely confined for 
any length of time, walks, little journeys on foot, gar- 
dening, turning, joiners' Avork, etc., etc., are good exer- 
cises for them. 

Some plays and the gymnastic exercises form motions 
which are particularl|| worthy of notice. The latter are 
called so from the Greek work gymnos, that is, naked ; 
for in Greece they were performed with disrobed bodies. 
They are useful in many ways. They jjromote physical 
agility and efficacy in general. They make the young 
man more independent, freer. They protect and save 



The Culturk of tiik Body. 121 



him in many a danger. They afford the youth a fine 
demeanor, a firm attitude, and contribute to the liand- 
some form of tlie hotly. Finally, tlicy advance also 
mental culture. The ancient Greeks understood their 
importance better than we of modern times. Who does 
not know the Olympian games ? Still they commenced 
also in our age, here and there, to give them a closer 
attention. Nay, the Legislature of the Canton of Zurich 
did not think it to be below their dignity to recommend 
these exercises as a branch of public instruction. They 
are joined, in several Swiss cantons, to the juvenile fes- 
tivals, which are also a pleasant phenomenon of oui- age. 
I recommend them, therefore, to your particular atten- 
tion. 

Gymnastic exercises for children are : 

Different kinds of DriviiKj a Ball, e. g., the tennis. 

Racing. At first the bounds are not set far off; head 
and chest are free ; the upper garment is thrown off! 

Wrestling. Animosity must be there avoided. 

Balancing. At first the children stand upon one 
foot, then several place themselves side by side, handing 
or throwing over something to each other; they pass 
over narrow bridges without rails, over beams, boards, 
over the edge of a plank, etc., etc. 

Swimming. It is done most properly in the evenings, 
because tlie Avater is then warmest. The stomach must 
not be clogged nor the body heated. Attention is to be 
paid to the decorum. 

Skating. The most healthful and cultivating exercise 
for boys, and youths more advanced in age, and even for 
girls it is found to be beneficial. 

Dancing. Dancing must not grow to a passion. Dear 



122 The Educating Mother. 



friend, set bounds to the love of tlie dance to your 
daughters when they are blooming. At balls be the 
tutelar genius pf their innocence. Rousseau leads his 
pupil not to dancing-halls, but over rocks and slippery 
cracks. 

At all plays superintendence, precaution and gradual 
exercise, according to the forces of the pupil, ought to 
take place. 

In conclusion of my letter I wish yet to say a word 
about the rest of the l)ody. (Jhildren like so much to 
sleep ; do not grudge them, by any means, the golden 
slumber. Sleep restores their hjst forces. It is known 
that tliey sleej) almost downright awaj' the first months 
of their life; Init later, too, from the second to the fifth 
year, they dare and should jileep in the day-time, in de- 
creasing rati(j, from fnir to one hour. Even the youth 
does not sleep too much if you grant him eight hours in 
summer and nine in ^vinter. Little children like to 
prattle before falling asleep. How is this to be helped ? 
Sing or speak to them softly, lower and lower. Let 
silence hover around their resting-place. 



SIXTH LETTER. 

[I commuicate you the followinj^ remarks from an American author,* be- 
cause thej' are also adapted to our girls and female students.] 

EPOCH OP DEVELOPMENT OF GIRLS. 

The age of fourteen to twenty years is the epoch of 
development of girls. Mothers should 1)e wisely anxious 
about this epoch, especially in the catamenial weeks of 
their daughters. Nature has reserved the catamenial 
week for the process of ovulation, and for the development 

* " Sex in Education," by Dr. E. H. Clarke, Boston. 



The Cctlture of the Body. 123 



and perfection of the reproductive system. Unless the 
reproductive organism is built and put in good working 
order at that time, it is never jierfectly accomplished af- 
terwards. It is not enough to take precautions till men- 
struation has for the first time occurred ; the period for 
its return should, even in the healthiest girl, be Avatchefl 
for, and all previous pi-ecautions should be once more re- 
peated ; and this should be done again and again, until 
at length the habit of regular, healthy menstruation is 
established. If this be not accomplished during the first 
few years of womanhood, it will, in all probability, never 
be attained. There have been females who graduated 
from school or college excellent scholars, but Avith unde- 
veloped ovaries. Later they married and were sterile. 
From the disturbances of the delicate mechanism we are 
considering, induced during the catamenial weeks of that 
critical age, germinate a host of ills, — periodical hemor- 
rhage, amenorrhea, anemia, chorea, sterility, etc., etc. 

The groAvth of this peculiar and marvelous apparatus 
occurs during the few years of a girl's educational life. 
In order to give girls a fair chance in education four 
conditions must then be observed : (1) A sufficient supply 
of appropriate nourishment ; (2) a noi-mal management 
of the catamenial functions; (3) mental and physical 
work so apportioned that repair shall exceed waste, and 
a margin be left for sexual develojimeut, and (4) suffi- 
cient sleej). A healthy and growing boy may spend six 
hours of force daily upon his studies ; a girl cann(it spend 
nun-e than four, or, in occasional instances, five hours. 
Daring every four weeks, there should be a remission, 
and sometimes an intermission of both study and physical 
exercise. 



124 The Educating ^Mother. 

ILLUSTRATION. 

WHAT DR. CLAKKE REPORTS ABOUT A SCHOOL-GIRL, FIFTEEN 
YEARS OLD. 

Miss A., a healthy, bright, intelligent girl, entered a 
seminary for girls, in the State of New York, at the age 
of fifteen. She was then sufficiently well developed, and 
the catamenia were fairly established. She was ambi- 
tious as well as capable, and aimed to be among the first 
in the school. She was always anxious about her recita- 
tions. She went to school regularly every week, and 
every day of the school-year, just as boys do. She paid 
no more attention to the periodical tides of her organiza- 
tion than her companions, and that Avas none at all. She 
recited standing at all times, or at least whenever a stand- 
ing recitation was the order of the hour. She soon found 
(and this history is taken from her own lips) that for a 
few days during every four ^veeks the effort of reciting 
produced an extraordinary physical result. The attend- 
ant anxiety and the excitement relaxed the sluices of the 
system that Avere already physically open, and deter- 
mined a liemorrhaga Subjected to the inflexible rules 
of the school, unwilling to seek advice from anyone, 
almost ashamed of her own physique, she ingeniously 
protected herself against exposure, physically defying nat- 
ure. At the end of a year she went home Avith a grati- 
fying report from her teachers, and jjale cheeks and a 
variety of aches. Her parents were pleased, and per- 
haps a little anxious. " She is a good scholar," said her 
father, " somewhat overworked possibly ; " and so lie gave 
her a trip among the mountains, and a week or two at 
the sea-shore. After her vacation she returned to school, 
and repeated the jjrevious year's experience, — constant 



The Culture of the Body. 125 

work, recitations uikI studies for all days alike, a hemor- 
rliao-e once a mouth that would make the .4roke oar of 
the university crew falter, and a brilhant scholar. Be- 
fore the expiration of the second year nature began to 
assert her authorif v. The paleness of JNIiss A.'s complex- 
ion increased. An uncontrolled twitching of a rhyth- 
mical sort got into the muscles of her face, and made her 
hands go and feet jump. She was seut home, and her 
physician called, who at once diagnosticated chorea (St. 
Vitus' dance), and said she had studied too hard, and 
wisely prescribed no study and a long vacation. Her 
father toolc her to Europe. A year of the sea and the 
Alps of England and the Continent, the Rhine and Italy, 
worked like a charm. Tlie sluice-ways were controlled, 
and the blood saved, the color and health returned. Slie 
came back seemingly well, and at the age of eighteen 
went to her old school once more. During all this time 
not a word had been said to her )iy lier parents, her 
l^hysician, or her teachers, about any jieriodical care of 
herself; and the rules of the school did not acknowledge 
the catameuia. The labor and the regimen of the school 
soon brought on the old menorrhagic trouble in the old 
way, with the addition of occasional ftiintings to empha- 
size nature's warnings. She persisted in getting her educa- 
tion, however, and graduated at nineteen, the first scholar 
and an invalid. Again her parents were gratified and 
anxious. " She is overworked," said they, and wondered 
why girls break down so. To insure her recovery, a 
second, and longer travel was undertaken. Egypt and 
Asia were added to Europe, and nearly two years were 
allotted to the cure. Witli change of air and scene her 
health improved, but not so rapidly as with the previous 



126 The Educatijs^g Mother. 

journey. She returned to America iDetter than she went 
away, and married at the age of twenty-two. Soon after 
that time she consulted the writer on accomit of pro- 
longed dyspepsia, neuralgia, and dysmenorrhoea, whicli 
had replaced menorrhagia. Then I learned the long his- 
tory of her education and of her efforts to study just as 
boys do. Her attention had never been called before to 
tlie danger she had incurred while at school. She is now 
what is called getting better, but has the delicacy and 
weaknesses of American women, and so far, is without 
children. 



SEVENTH LETTER. 

THEBAPEUTICS OF THE BODY — THRtTSHES OF CHILDREN — TEETH- 
ING — HEALING OF PAMPERING — GENERAL REMARKS. 

Though I heartily desire to be able to communicate to 
you many useful advices with regard to the therapeutics 
of the body, I find only a few here on the right place. 
The reason of it rests on the nature of the object. The 
perfect knowledge of human diseases and of their healing 
is such a vast and partly obscure province of science 
that it cannot be expected of the educating mother to 
possess it. I say " the perfect knowledge," for as far as 
it concerns the nature and management of infantile dis- 
eases, no mother, indeed, ought to be ignorant of this part 
of it. In real diseases you must go for help to the physi- 
cian. What pedagogy has to tell us of this, is limited to 
the following remarks : — 

Let no disorder become deep-rooted ; go for help be- 
fore it increases and perhaps groAVS incurable. If you do 
not neglect the first symptoms of the evil, you can, in 
most cases, become the doctor of your children yourself 



The Culture of the Body. 127 

A cup of tea, a slight purgative, i.s often the beginning 
and the end of the cure. In this manner I healed, e. (]., 
tlie thrushes of children (as they call them) only witli 
caraway. Every mother should have ready some general 
remedies. Old practices must not always be complied 
with, customary household medicines not always be 
trusted, e. cj., if children cut teeth, they give them usually 
hard objects in order to help the tooth piercing, and still 
it is certain that even thereby the pain of the child is 
increased. A piece of wax-taper is better; or a small 
crust of bread, not a large one, for by accident the child 
might loosen a large piece of it, whicli might choke it. 
Sucking the thumb, when it is cutting teeth, is the liest 
gum-stick in the world. Truly may the thumb be called 
a baby's comfort. 

Least you will accord superstition the right of voting in 
such a sacred concern as the health and life of 5'our chil- 
dren are. You can lend much assistance for saving your 
darlings if you communicate to the physician your conject- 
ures and observations regarding the nature of the disease ; 
ifyou take care that his directions are strictly obeyed ; that 
the jDatient takes promptly the medicines, though they 
nauseate him; if you — but who would prescribe to a lov- 
ing mother the extent and bounds of her activity ? In- 
deed, he who despises our sex, must behold a faithful 
mother at the sick-bed of her children, and he will agree 
with the words of the poet : — 

"All honor to women! — they soften and leaven 
The cares of the world with the roses of Heaven.* 

Some kinds of physical defects, as, e. g., effeminacy 

■Schiller, in liis poem, " Digrnity of Women." 



128 The Educating Mother. 

caused by pampering, originate in a faulty way of life ; 
others, like the fearful evil of self-pollution, issue, for the 
most part, from an ill state of mind. Medical art is 
rarely wanted to heal such defects ; their healing rests 
for the most part upon the laws of j^sychology. So, e. 
g., effeminate delicacy requires hardening by degrees; 
violence would do little good in such a case. Or what 
should compulsion bring to pass, if a child would not like 
certain kinds of food ? 

Another remarkable case is prompted by the inability 
to retain the urine — a case noticed sometimes even in 
families of high standing, in rather large sons of physi- 
cians and professors ; a case which, if it ajDpears in older 
children, suggests that the parents, especially the mothers, 
mostly are careless. Such an annoying evil will be 
cured if the child is oftener awakened during the night ; 
if he takes for supper no food which makes water, and if 
he is prevented to uncover himself in bed. Older chil- 
dren should be treated, besides, with some severity. 
Small rewards can make them more careful ; rough pun- 
ishment, principally flogging, can hardly be approved. 
Sometimes medicines are of relief. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE MIRACLE WORKER. 

Mr. S. had an only child, a daughter, sixteen years 
old, who, since eight years, always Avas bedrid. As I was 
acquainted with the family, I jiaid to the sick lady sev- 
eral visits. Though the parents had tried the art of 
many a physician, the maiden was never able to rise. 
What a misery to the parents and child ! Finally they 
were advised to apply for help to the Prince of Hohen- 



The Culture of the Body. 129 

lolie, who was also a Catholic priest, and was highly ven- 
erated by the populace of Vienna as a mi]-acle wjorkev. 
He liad been in Palestine, had seen the holy places 
of that country, and had l)ri)ught water from the River 
Joi-dan. Crowds of people often gathered before his 
residence, eager to see him, and to get his benediction. 
The parents implored him for help. lie came to see the 
sick child; he imposed his hands upon her head; he 
prayed with the parents ; he prescribed to wash her with 
fresh water, and promised to come again. He came in- 
deed several times more; the washing and the prayers 
were continued, but neither prayers nor water took the 
least effect ; the poor maiden remaLned as sick as she was 
before. 

THE QUACK. 

Philip was the only child Avhich Mr. Damon had left 
to his dear wife. You will easily imagine that she loved 
the boy like her own self, and personally desired to keep 
the only monument of the tender matrimony. Conse- 
quently, she went, for conscience' sake, to a physician in 
order to consult him. Though Philip was as healthy as 
a young roe, nevertheless she believed that she ought 
to take care, in time, of his health. The physician felt 
Philip's pulse, and told her : " Your child is healthy ; I 
should not be doing a kindness neither to you nor to 
your child, if I would give him even a drop of medicine." 
" But," replied the woman, " the boy caught cold, and 
pimples have made their appearance." " Let them alone, 
my dear," said the physician, "they are the operations 
of nature which conduce for health. It were cruel if 
you would disturb nature in her laws." She thought, 
" You may be the right physician, indeed ! " and went 



130 The Educating Mother. 

to Mr. N., a quack, who promised to visit lier next day. 
He did so. He examined the boy carefully, and in- 
quired how his appetite and sleep were, and as he was 
told that the child last night had turned sometimes rest- 
lessly in bed, he shook his head gravely. " For heaven's 
sake," cried the woman, "what's the matter?" "It is a 
serious case. The whole organism of the child is dis- 
ordered. When did you purge the boy the last time ? " 
" I think, not for a year." " There ! there ! we got it ! 
Most food contains an injurious acidity from which can- 
cerous sores, colds, and apoplexies spring. The child has 
got a compound malady which we physicians call mor- 
hum mixtwn. It takes time to remove it radically. For 
a few months we can do nothing but employ palliatives. 
But if we can keep our patient alive only until spring, 
we shall set lively to work to cure him with decoc- 
tions of herbs." 

Now Mrs. Damon was satisfied, and she delivered her 
dear Philip entirely into the hands of the physician, 
who right away, next day, began using the remedies. 
It was a cruel treatment which cannot be described with- 
out tears. Fruit, vegetablfes, and what else children 
like Avell he was entirely forbidden to eat. So much 
electuary, tea of simples, and powders were given to him 
that the red complexion, and the marrow in his bones 
disappeared, and his appetite was lost. Vainly the 
mother complained and wept at the barbarous treatment. 
" I am glad of it," he said ; " it must come to this ; first 
we must evacuate ^11, before we intend to strengthen the 
child." 

In this way the jiroposed cure lasted three years, until 
nature i-eleased the poor child by an easy death from the 
clutches of his tormentor. 



The Culture of the Body. 131 

Moral. — If you want to make your children sick, give 
them many medicines. 

THE POISOXED CHILD. 

The honorable ]\Ir. Z., a representative of the Swiss 
Congress, was father of a beautiful little son whose name 
was Rodolph. Once he led me to the bedroom in 
which the child slumbered, sho^nug me the pretty sight. 
There the boy rested like another Endymion. The 
father felt so happy. Well, soon after, his wife paid a 
visit in the country, and took the boy with her. He fell 
suddenly sick, and when his mother returned, he died. 
It is difficult to imagine the grief of the parents, princi- 
pally of the father. Still nature granted him another 
son, whom, in memory of the lost, he called also Ro- 
dolph. Then the mother died also, and Mr. Z. took a 
second wife. jMeanwhile, this boy, Avho Avas as beautiful 
as the fii-st, grew up and went to school. On one occa- 
sion, when he was about seven years old, he came home 
sick from school complaining of belly-ache. The mother 
consulted a book entitled " The Family Physician," and 
administered to the child a medicine according to the pre- 
scription of the book. The condition of the patient did not 
improve ; to the contrary, it grew worse. The mother 
tried another medicine of the same book. But the evil 
got still worse. The other day Mrs. Z. sent for the phy- 
sician. He examined the child, and declared to the ter- 
rilied mother that it was poisoned. The boy had gone 
after school, with some comrades, in a meadow where the 
colchicum flourished. The nice blossoms enticed the 
boys ; they picked several flowers, and little Rodolph ate 
some seeds of the plant, not knowing that they were 
poisonous. The physician could not save the poor boy ; 



132 The Educating Mother. 

he died the same day. This was the second child which 
died in consequence of tlie imprudence of the mothers. 
Think of the feelings of the unfortunate father ! 

Moral. — Parents who keep medical books for consult- 
ing them in case a member of the family falls sick, 
ought to be very cautious and careful in making use of 
them. 



Ee8©nd Sepieg. 



CULTURE OF INTELLECT. 

" Let children rejoice like children, and do not intend to make 
them prematurely mules and scholars." 

— J. J. EoussEAu's Emile. 



EIQETH LETTER. 

SUMMARY OF THE SERIES — CULTURE OF THE INTUITIVE 
FACULTY — IMAGES. 

The peculiar efficacy of human mind consists in the 
formation of conceptions. Of these I shall speak now. 
Conceptions can be considered separately or in conjunc- 
tion. The separated conceptions are called intuitions, 
notions, or ideas. Intuitions are external or interior ; the 
object of the first kind of intuitions is things exterior 
to us; that of the second kind, we ourselves with our 
thoughts and volitions. The faculty attributed to the 
mind for that end is called faculty of intuition. Or the 
combinations of conceptions ai'C considered ; they are 
called judgments of mind and are formed by means of 
intellect proper. 

All these mental faculties serve to form new concep- 



Culture of Intellect. 133 

tions. But we renew frequently already formed notions, 
namely, by means of memory. 

After this general view, the most important sides 
which are to be cultivated in the intellect of the pujiil 
shall now be represented, principally "with regard to the 
first periods of life up to the time when the mental cult- 
ure of our children is committed to the school, which 
then supplies our place. 

The knowledge of man begins with perceptions of the 
senses. Rousseau says : " Immediately after birth the 
child receives the first lesson." Therefore take care of 
the instructive intuitions of the cliild already in the 
cradle. Mothers are doing well to cultivate early the 
senses of the children, e. g. : the sense of sight, by teach- 
ing them to distinguish the single colors, and the dis- 
tance of objects ; the sense of touch, by letting them 
feel if a body be cold or warm, smooth or rough. They 
are, thereby, enabled to use the body as an implement of 
work. Such an information prepares them for life. 

The single parts of every object ought to be observed 
and named. The child ought to touch that which can 
be touched. Representations and models ai-e no perfect 
substitutes of reality. From the domestic circle and 
the residence the knowledge of the cliild ought to ex- 
pand more and more without. Among the different 
sciences from Avhich the mother can obtain objects of in- 
tuition are anthropology, natural liistory, description of 
trades, and geography. It is desirable that children ob- 
tain instruction how to acquire the knowledge of plants 
.and flowers, which are interesting them so much, how 
to gather them in the fields, and how to preserve them. 
But I cannot advise you to let them collect insects at 
this age. 



134 The Educating Mother. 

On the other hand, it is well to lead the pupil into the' 
workshoj^s of mechanics and workmen, and to teach 
him there the knowledge of their different tools and oc- 
cupations, and of the materials wliich they employ in 
their trades. 

Geography could also be an expedient to develop the 
intellect even of a boy five years old, if the instruction 
were of the intuitive kind ; e. g., Rousseavi let his Emile 
see the sun rise on different places and in different sea- 
sons, in order to teach him that we have another orient 
in summer as in winter. Globes and maps are for 
this end indispensable. As it is supposed that the 
child is yet unable to read, cities, mountains, rivers, etc., 
must be represented figuratively. 'i^ We should, then, 
begin with the nearest localities and first represent our 
native country ; later show the earth in its outlines. 

Of the internal intuitions only a few can in the first 
age be evolved. In order to enable you to apply the 
theory of the intellectual culture easier, you will not 
take amiss that I join my own attempts as examples of 
illiTstration. An imperfect model is better than none 
at all. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE ROSE. 

[Mother and child, both in the garden^ 
Child. "Mamma, what kind of flower is this?" 
3fother. "Itisaro.se. What do you see on it? Look 
here; here is the stalk, and there are three leaves; here is 

»" Topical Analysis of Physical Geography," byC. W. Childs, Professor of 
the Normal School in California. 



Culture of Intellect. 135 



a hud, and here the blossom. It is ah'eady shut vj). 
These leaves are called j)etcds. What is their color ? " 

Ch. " They are red." 

3L " Aud the leaves of the stalk ? " 

Ch. " They arc green." 

31. "Next see here are the jtidUs in the blossom. 
(^Placing a rose to the nose of the child.) What do you 
say now ? " 

Ch. " Oh, what sweet odor ! " • 

J/. "Now, give me your finger. There, touch this 
thorn, l)ut softly." 

Ch. "Alas! it stings." 

if. " Yes, my dear child. It is so with the rose, and 
it is so with many other things; they have good and 
bad properties. A proverb says, 'No rose without 
thorns.' Shut now the eyes. I shall pick still another 
flower, and then see if you can distinguish it from the 
rose. (She jmks a violet, and holds one flower after the 
other to the none of the child.) Which of the flowers is 
the rose?" 

Ch. (^Touching the rose) "This one." 

M. " Ho^v do you now distinguish the rose ? " 
- Ch. " By the odor." 

M. "That will do. What can you tell me now about 
the whole of the rose ? " 

Ch. " It has a stalk, leaves, petals, pistils, thorns, a 
sweet odor, etc." 

M. " There are also white roses, aud even yellow ones, 
but the latter are seldom found. Not all roses have so 
many petals, like this, which is called the centifolious ; 
outside, on the hedges, wild roses grow, which have but 
five petals. Among all flowers the rose is the most 
beautiful." 



136 The Educating Mother. 



[MotJier and Ghild."] 

Mother. " Do you still remember the poor man who re- 
quested the father to write a letter of recommendation 
for him?" 

CJiild. "AVhy should I not? It was but yesterday 
that he was here. Besides, he was so miserable. So — 
he had only one leg. The other Avas — " 

31. {Interrupting the child) "It is well, my child; 
what did you feel, then, as you looked at the poor man ? " 

Ch. " Alas ! I felt myself not well thereby. I felt 
like crying for the poor man." 

M. " Did you then feel joy or pain in your heart?" 

Ch. " Pain, to be sure ! " 

3L " But you are not lacking a leg ; whose suffering, 
then, caused your pain ? " 

Ch. " The suffering of the poor man." 

M. " Was this suffering your own, or that of another ? " 

Ch. " Of another one." 

M. " Now look ; such a pain which we feel for the suf- 
ferings of other people is called pity. Can you tell me 
what pity is ? " 

Ch. " Pain we feel for suffering." 

31. " When the dentist pulled out your tooth, you had 
also pain, but was it also pity ? " 

Ch. " No, mamma." 

31. " Why not ? " 

Ch. " Because it was caused by my own suffering." 

31. "Therefore, were you right when you said that 
pity is pain we feel for a suffering?" 

Ch. "No." 

31. " What must you still add ? Whose suffering must 
it be?" 



Culture of Intkllect. loT 



Ch. " That of another one." 

M. " When did you likewise feci pity ? " 

Ch. " The other day, as Julius was iiunished." 

31. " That's so ; your pity for tlie ]:toor Julius went as 
far as to make you cry. Remenilier also the mother in 
your picture-book ; she also is shedding tears, for what 
reason ? " 

Ch. " Because she embraces again her son, after 
many years of separation." 

J/. " Does she also cry from pain ? " 

Ch. " No, from joy." 

31. " Our tears spring, then, from different fountains ; 
it is not pity alone which elicits them to us. Become 
accustomed, my child, to reflect always on the causes of 
human actions, but in particidar, never close your heart 
against the sweet feeling of pity ! ' Rejoice with the joy- 
ful, and cry with the mourner.' " 

In conclusion of my letter, dear friend, let me say a 
word on i)ictxircs. They should rejireseut their objects 
faithfully and distinctly, and, if possible, be colored ; 
they must not paint immoral scenes, nor foster supersti- 
tion. It is to be wished that they represent virtues which 
are peculiar to children, e. g., modesty, gratitude, obedi- 
ence. They ought to be also handsomely drawn. Their 
use is indispensable where the real intuition of the 
object cannot be given. They should be also an orna- 
ment of rural cottages, for they interest children higlily ; 
but the attention of the children must be directed to their 
constituent parts and tenor. The contents of picture- 
books should be derived from the sphere of experience of 
children. 



138 The Educating Mother. 

NINTH LETTER. 

CULTURE OP INTELLECT PKOPEK — TOYS. 

The child develops its intellect early. The first word 
which it stammers when it is twelve months old, shows 
us that it is already thinking ; still it did not begin to 
think just now; it has been thinldng since it is living. 
Consequently, cultivate the intellect of your children 
carefully while in these periods of life. Material for this 
purpose is not lacking in life. The training of the intel- 
lect requires that you procure the child many intuitions. 
An empty mill cannot grind, only clatter. Experience 
is the assistant of the intellect; without it, it is unable to 
do anything. Moreover, let the child investigate the 
causes and effects of things, perceive their use, distinguish 
between purpose and means. Correct erroneous judg- 
ments, and do it with the patience of a mother. Do not 
promjit the child with the thoughts ready made. Very 
yoimg children shoidd gather homogeneous things, sepa- 
rate heterogeneous, and put them in order. For this 
mental exercise serve grains of seed, leaves, and petals of 
flowers, shapes of paper, etc. Building with little, regu- 
lar pieces of wood imj)roves also the understanding; 
they can rej)resent squares, triangles, etc., and ought to 
be in parcels of different size and gradation, but they 
may also represent whole parts of a house. Little retail 
shops Avith different goods are playthings wliich also 
develop the intellectual power. Other toys are still fit to 
this aim, — for boys : wooden and leaden soldiers on foot 
and horse-back, arms, cartridge-boxes, banners ; for girls : 
little kitchens and pantries, and in the first place the doll, 
which must represent at one time the darling baby, at 
another the dear mother, the aunt, nay, perhaps even the 



Culture of Inttllect. 139 

grandmother. For the rest, in regard to playthings, the 
question depends not so much upon their quantity, as 
iqion the good selection and the right use of them. 

For the older children, the former mentioned l^ranches 
of science, natural history, and the knowledge of trades 
furnish ample material for thought ; hut nothing makes 
the understanding more acute than instruction in arith- 
metic. But as I do not know that you will teach your 
children this rather difficult section of knowledge, I will, 
meanwhile, pass it by in silence; only permit me to re- 
mark that it is desirable that children when they enter 
the public schools understand the elements of addition 
and subtraction. I suggest here only one trial, how 
objects can be used for the pur^DOse in question. 



IT.LUSTRATIONS. 

THE WATCH — STATEMENT OF ITS PROPEKTIES. 

\_Motlier and child.'] 
Mother. "What do I hold in the hand?" 

Child. "A watch." 

M. " What do you notice on the outside of the watch ? " 

Ch. " Hands and a dial-plate." 

M. " How many hands do you see ? " 

Ch. "Two." 

M. " What more do you see ? " 

Ch. " A glass, a case, and a hook." 
M. " Now I oi:)en it. What do you perceive in the 
inside of the watch ? " 

Ch. " Wheels, a chain, the balance, and a S2:)ring." 
M. " I will hide it now. Do you remark anything 
more about it ? " 

Ch. " Yes, I hear it beating pit-a-pat ! " 



140 The Educating Mother. 

If.*" What shape has it ? " 

Ch. " It is round, smooth, convex." 

ORIGIN AND 0SE. 

M. " Who has made the watch ? " 

Ch. " Tlie watchmaker." 

M. " Did he fabricate its single parts himself? " 

Ch. " No ; he only composed them as a whole." 

M. " Who did fabricate the parts ? " 

Ch. "The glazier fabricated the glass, the mechanic 
the wheels, etc." 

M. " Of what is the glass made ? of what the wheels? " 

Ch. " The glass is made from pebbles, the wheels from 
metal." 

M. " What is the use of watches ? " 

Ch. " Watches tell us the time." 

31. " What time is it now by this watch ? " 

Ch. " Six o'clock." 

SIMILITUDE AND DIFFERENCE. 

31. " See there, the wooden clock ! In Avhat does it 
resemble the watch ? " 

Ch. "It 'has also hands, figures, a dial-plate and 
wheels." 

M. " What is to be done daily with both if Ave want 
them to go?" 

Ch. " They must be wound up." 

31. " How many times must the watch be wound up ? " 

Ch. "Only once a day, but the clock tmce, in the 
morning and evening." 

3f. "Which is the larger?" 

Ch. "The clock." 

31. " State still other diflTerences of both." 



Culture of Intellect. 141 

Gh. "One strikes, the other does not; one has a 
penduhim, the other a s^prin^- ; one is made of wood, the 
other of metal." 

M. '• What other points of difierence has the clock in 
order to enable it to strike?" 

(Jh. " Hammer and bell." 

CAUSE AND KKFECT — MEANS AND rUEPOSE. 

M. " You have told already that watches want to be 
wound up in order to be able to go. What, then, is the 
reason that they are going ? " 

Ch. " Because they are ^vound up." 
M. " What do I want in order to wind the watch ? " 
Ch. " xV watch-key." 

M. " Why is it behind a glass and a case? " 
Ch. " To protect it against any disturbance and dam- 
age." 

M. " But why is the dial-plate only covered with glass ? " 
Ch. " Because being otherwise we should not be able 
to see what time it isi" 

M. " What's the use of the hands"" 
Cli. " They show the hours and minutes." 
M. " Of what use are the spring and balance ? " 
Ch. " They move the wheels." 
31. " AVhy are all these parts made of metal ? " 
Ch. " In order that they may last longer, and can be 
made smaller, than they could if they were eonstructed 
of wood." 

CLASSIFICATION. 

M. " What is the Avatch? " 

Ch. "A utensil or implement." 

31. " Give the names of several kinds of time-pieces." 



142 The Educating Mother. 

Ch. " Watches, clocks, clocks of steejDles, repeaters." 
M. "How are time-pieces classified according to their 
motors ? " 

Ch. "There are time-pieces of weights and springs, 
sand-glasses and water-clocks." 
M. " According to their station ? " 
Ch. " There are clocks for rooms, and clocks of steeples." 
M. " According to the material of wliicli they are con- 
structed ? " 

Ch. "There are wooden and metallic ones." 

M. " What kinds of metallic are there ? " ' 

Ch. " Gold, silver, and brass watches, and u-on clocks." 

WAY TO MAKE CHILDREN STUPID. 

In a certain family the usual way to punish the chil- 
dren for every fault they committed was a few sound ear- 
boxes. If Charlie or Annie did something that the 
parents disliked, the usual menace was, "Look out, I 
shall give you that you lose your seeing and hearing." 
And it was not done with these menaces, they were 
every day executed, so that the children stood as if 
stunned, especially if the father gave them ; he usually 
struck their heads. 

By the violent shocks of the head the brain was dis- 
ordered, and Charlie and Annie turned into the greatest 
blockheads. Mischievous people vied together to make 
them believe the most absurd stories, and then were 
amused if the children repeated them. 

Mr. Job's children were not smarter. Not till four 
years old did they learn to speak, and not before the 
twelfth, to read, but never to think. The mother com- 
plained to a physician, and tliis was the answer : " How 



Culture of Intellect. 143 

can it happen otherwise? Your husband never goes 
sober to bed." 



TENTH LETTER. 

RELIGIONS INSTRUCTION. 

Religion is the belief in God and inmiortality. Here 
the question solicits the niind of a thinking mother : 
Ought parents to teach religion to their children, and at 
what age must they begin with it? Absolutely not in 
its lower grades, for disquisitions in regard to a supreme 
being are to little children entirely unintelligible. 
Rousseau is right when he says : " Be not in a hurry to 
settle heaven with crows and magpies." What can we, 
in general, assert reasonably of a highest being? Noth- 
ing. For if there is any such being, its qualities must 
be infinite, transcending the faculties of human under- 
standing; it is unknown to man, and never can be 
knoAvn by him. We can only teach the pupil that there 
is in the universe a supreme power on which all phe- 
nomena, also human power, depend. Let nature take 
the place of the conception of God, for she is an object 
tlie child can see, hear, feel and observe. Mothers 
should, at least, never teach children erroneous doctrines, 
nor dogmas which they do not understand themselves, 
and nobody can understand, because they are senseless. 
Teach your children nothing that you do not believe 
yourself You will not amuse, or, rather, annoy them 
with mere opinions of faith, will you? 

More advanced children ought to study the history of 
religions in order to get acquainted "with their good and 
bad qualities, and, after having examined them, to be 
able to choose one independently; but jjrobalily they 



144 The Educating Mother. 

will arrive at the result that all have some defects, and 
will choose none at all, like Frederic Schiller, who says : 

"Which religion do I ricknowlcdge ? None that thou namest." 
"None that I name? And why so?" "Why, for religion's own 
sake ! " 

Guard your children vigorously against the pernicious 
influence of superstitious doctrines, even if they are gen- 
erally believed in your country. Explain to them the 
meaning of customary rites and ceremonies. 

In conclusion of my letter I cannot but communicate 
you the following passages from the " Levaua " of J. P. 
Richter : " Sham religion, which is pious only in words, 
is a mock sun, a parhelion, which can neither warm nor 
light." " Grace-saying must needs debase every child." 
"Seldom let children go to church, because, so far, there 
are not siDecial preachers for children." " Every profes- 
sion of faith should be to the child as sacred as its 
own." 

You will object, and say that there are Sunday- 
schools where we can send our children. I would not 
advise you, dear friend, to follow the common example 
of other parents, for experience proves that most of 
these schools are detrimental to the education of children. 
Their mind receives there an erroneous impression of the 
universe, is crammed with superstition, invited to secta- 
rian hatred and fanaticism, and subdued to the sway of 
the churches. The superstitious conceptions grafted in 
tlie tender brains of youth by the Sunday-schools can, in 
after-time, never more, or but with great difficulty, be 
eradicated. Turner societies, too, have organized Sunday- 
schools where the pupils receive instruction in singing, 
dramng, and other branches of culture. Send your 



Culture of Intellect. 145 

children there, or make excursions with them into the 
country, where nature furnishes them so many objects 
of interest and observation. In the worst case, you had 
better let them play at home, in your yard, than to have 
destroyed in an hour on Sunday what you built care- 
fully during a week at home. 

If you speak at all to your children of immortality, 
do it only occasionally, e. g., when a member of the 
family dies. Never converse with little ones on that 
subject ; they cannot understand your reasonings. Why 
darken the sunshine of their paradise by the dim clouds 
of the grave? Rousseau says: "My Emile does not 
know when he is fourteen years old, that he has a soul ; 
and, perhaps, even then it is still too early to teach it 
him." But hereby I would not say that we must let our 
cliildren run at the risk of their life, silently; on the 
contrary, warn them that they will lose their life, if 
they are careless, and do not avoid threatening dangers, 
e. g., perilous plays. Give them, also, examples of such 
children whom they have known, and who lost their 
lives by foolhardy actions. 



ILL USTRA TIONS. 

THE FIRST APPLE TREE, 

[^Iother and her children, Henry and Rosa, taking a 
walk?^ 

Rosa. " Dear mother, who made these trees so beauti- 
fully?" 

Mother. "You mean, then, that somebody has built 
them, like the carpenter l^uilds a house ? You are mis- 
taken, my dear child. I will tell you how this apple 



146 The Educating Mother. 

tree originated. On your birthday the father put the 
seed of an apple into the ground ; in a short time it shot 
forth a green germ, which grew higher every year and 
has now become a nice tree. That is the history of the 
apple tree. In the same or a similar way all trees you 
see here took rise." 

Henry. " But, dear mother, I must ask you one ques- 
tion more. You told Rosa that the tree has grown from 
the seed of the apple. Now, I am not so green as to 
ignore that the seeds came from the fruit, and this from the 
tree ; but if father must have an ap2>le and its seed from 
another tree, whence came, then, this tree?" 

31. " Also from a tree, and this one from another of 
its kind, and so on iufiiiitively." 

H. " But hoAv did the first tree rise ? " 

31. "I don't know. Nobody knows. Nature gave 
it rise. Nature gives origin to all trees and animals and 
to men, also." 

H. " That's very straaige." 

31. Indeed it is ; nay, say it is almost incomprehensi- 
ble. And, in the course of time, new kinds of existing 
animals and plants take origin ; e. g., all our tame pigeons 
descend from the rock-pigeon, which lives far away in 
the mountains ; the turtle-dove, the carrier-pigeon, the 
langhing-dove, etc. Here is an apple tree which de- 
scended from a crab we had in our garden. Father in- 
serted a small shoot of a russet tree into the crab ; it 
grew, and, in time, bore sweet apples. If the gardeners 
want to create new species of plants or flowers, they se- 
lect one of them which they want to propagate, and 
make use of it for spreading, secluding all tlie other 
kinds. The scholars call this jjroceediug of nature the 



Culture of Intellect. 147 

law of evolution, of which you will learn more when you 
grow older." 

THE ZEALOUS MRS. ELISABETH. 

INIr^. Elisulieth was very firmly attached to the Luth- 
eran religion, and wished to instill her zeal also into her 
children. She represented to tlieni that God loved no- 
body but Lutherans. Her daughter olijected to her, say- 
ing that she was also acquainted with honest people 
among Catholics, Jews and Reformists, and that tlxey, 
not being Avicked, could not be danmed by God forever. 
But the mother tried to demonstrate to her from the 
Bible that the Lutheran faith alone is true ; that all peo- 
ple could turn Lutherans, if tliey pleased, and that there- 
fore they could not complain of God if they did not 
make use of their freedom, and consequently were 
damned. 

Her son Frederic was once pert enough to tell her to 
her face that in the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew it was 
said that Jesus, on doomsday, will.not ask if one has been 
Lutheran, Reformist, Catholic, Jew, etc., but if he had 
shown charity and mercy to his fellow-creatures. He re- 
ceived, for this answer, a sound box on the ear, wliich 
had such an effect that he troubled his mother no more 
with such objections. In order to guard her conscience 
still more, she tried to engage a tutor. First an amiable, 
skillful gentleman was proposed to her, but Avhen she 
heard that he went to the church of the Reformers, she re- 
jected him and appointed a Mr. Morcolphus. True, the 
morals of this gentleman were rather rude, and his man- 
ners awkward; he possessed also little knowledge, but 
no matter, he was a genuine Lutheran. 

She enjoyed the great satisfaction of seeing her efforts 



148 The Educating Mother. 

blessed. Her children hate all people who are not 
Lutherans. Louisa, her eldest daughter, Avas loved by 
an excellent young man, who proposed to her. But as he 
neither was a Lutheran, nor would renounce his faith, 
she married a follower of her church who was a debau- 
chee, and infected her with a malady from whicli she 
deceased. She died with the expectation that God 
Avould recompense her in Heaven for having preferred a 
mean Lutheran to a l)rave Reformist. 

Tllb WILDENSPUCJl TKAGEDY. 

The atrocious murders committed by the religious fa- 
natics Freeman, Kennnler and others in America, re- 
minded me of a similar misdeed Avhich I witnessed in the 
Canton of Zurich, Switzerland, while I lived in that 
country. There then existed a Christian sect called Pi- 
etists, or by the community, Separatists, who used to meet 
in the evenings and nights in remote, secluded places for 
the sake of their peculiar worship. One of these socie- 
ties held regular meetings in a solitary farm-house in the 
village of Wildenspuch. 

Here, in the passion-Aveek of 1831 or 1832, as their 
religious mania reached its climax, they had a meeting in 
which they considered the bloody sacrifice that, according 
to their creed, Christ had ofiered on the Calvary hill in 
that week, and came to the conclusion that it A\'as their 
sacred duty to rencAV that sacrifice. They singled out 
one of their society to be killed. She Avas a maiden 
twenty and odd years old. She consented to the resolu- 
tion of her brethren. Consequently she Avas fastened on 
a Avooden cross, and in the same way crucified as Avas 
Christ, according to the Gospels. 



Culture of Intellect. 149 

The news of tlie terrible massacre rapidly spread in 
the canton. The Government seized the members of the 
conventicle ; they confessed their guilt, and were all sent 
to the penitentiary for more or less years, according to the 
more or less prominent part they had acted in the bloody 
tragedy. 

Moral. — These are the fruits which spring from the 
Book of books, held forth by Christians to the whole of 
manlvind as their moral code. 

THE TEMPLAR AND THE PATRIAKCH OF JERUSALEM.* 
ACT IV, SCENE II. 

\_The Patnareh advancing in great jJomp on one side of 
the cloisters, and the Templar?^ 

Patriarch. {Approaching the Templar.') 
Ah, Sir Knight — 
How can I serve thee. Knight? 

Templar. By giving that 

In which my youth is wanting — counsel. 

Pa. Now on what question seeks the Knight our 
counsel ? 

Temp. Sujipose, most reverend Father, that a Jew 
Should have an only child, an only daughter — 
Trained up in every virtue liy his care, 
Loved more than his own soul, who, iu return. 
Loves him ■\vith fond devotion — and 'twere told 
To one of us the girl was not his daughter ; 
That he had bought, found, stolen her, what you will. 
In childhood ; and that, fiirther, it was known 
She was a Christian, and had been baptized, — 
The Jew had only brought her up a Jewess, 
Would only have her taken for a Jewess, 
And his own daughter. Say, most reverend Father, 
How shall such case be dealt with ? 

*" Nathan, the Wise," by O. E. Lessinif. Translated by E- Frothingham. 



150 The Educating Mother. 

Pa. Ah, I shudder ! 

If this be fact, if in our diocese, 
In our dear city of Jerusalem, 
It shall have come to j^ass, then — 

Temp. And what then ? 

Pa. Then should be executed on the Jew, 
Without delay, the j^enalty decreed 
Against such crimes, such outrages, by laws 
Imperial and papal. 

Temp. So? 

Pa. Those laws 

Decree to any Jew who from the faith 
A Christian shall pervert, — ^the stake — ^the flames. 

Temp. So? 

Pa. How much more to one who shall have torn 
By violence from her baptismal vows 
A Christian child ! For all is violence 
That's done to children, is it not ? — that is. 
Excepting what the church may do to children. 

Temp. But if the child in misery had died, 
Unless the Jew had had compassion on it ? 

Pa. It matters not ; the Jew goes to the stake ! 
Better the child had died in misery here 
Than thus be saved for everlasting ruin, — 
Besides, Avhy need the Jew anticipate 
God's providence ? Without him God can save, 
If save he will. 

Temp). And e'en in spite of him, 

I trow, accord salvation. 

Pa. Matters not ; 

The Jew goes to the stake. 

Temp. I grieve to hear it. 

The more because the girl is trained, 'tis said, 
In no religion rather than his own ; 
And has been taught no more nor less of God 
Thau satisfies her reason. 

Pa. INIatters not ; 

Tlie Jew goes to the stake ! — a triple stake. 



Culture of Intellect. 151 

For that alone he'd merit. Let a child 
Grow up with no religion — teach it naught 
Of the im2:)ortant duty of believing ! 
That is too much ! I marvel, Knight, that you — 

Tem^J. The rest in the confessional, God willing. 
Most reverend Sir. [about to go. 

Pa. You give no explanation? 

You name me not this criminal, this Jew? 
Produce him not ? But I have means at hand, 
I'll instantly to Saladdiu. The Sultan, 
According to the treaty he has sworn, 
IMust, must protect us ; in tlie rights, the doctrines 
That for the true religion we may claim. 
He nnist protect us. The original, 
Thank God, is ours. We have his hand and seal. 
'Twere easy to convince him, too, the State, 
By this believing nothing, is endangered ; 
All hold upon the citizen dissolved, 
When he's permitted to believe in nothing. 
Away Avith sucli a scandal ! 

T<mp. I regi'et 

Not having greater leisure to .enjoy 
So excellent a sermon. Saladdiu 
Has summoned me. [exit. 

THE FANATIC, MRS. FANNY SMITH. 

In the little village of Harmony, New York, on Good 
Friday morning was enacted one of the most terrible 
tragedies of the year. While temporarily insane, ]\lrs. 
Fanny Smith, a farmer's wife, A\ith an ax as her weapon, 
attacked her four sleeping children. The little ones were 
i'lumbcring in bed when the mad woman stole upon them. 
One, a four-3"ear-old girl, was brained at one stroke, and 
a tliirteen-y ear-old boy received three frightful gashes in 
the head. An eleven-year-old daughter was awakened by 
the murder of the boy, and knowing that something terri- 



152 The Educating Mother. 

ble was occurring knelt down by her bedside and began to 
pray. In this posture she was discovered a moment 
later by her mother, who, despite her piteous cries for 
mercy, attacked her with the bloody •ax. The child 
crawled toward her mother on her knees, holding up her 
hands to protect herself, but at the fourth blow she fell 
forward on the floor horribly gashed. Mrs. Smith then 
went to another's bedside and struck her six or seven, 
times. The child evidently put up one little arm to ward 
off the blows and received a fearful cut across her four 
fingers. Then putting out the other arm, she received 
another blow which nearly severed her hand at the wrist. 
One of her eyes was entirely cut out and her skull was 
fractured. A daughter eighteen years old slept in an- 
other room. She was awakened by the screams of the 
children and rushed to bolt her door just in time to pre- 
vent the insane mother from forcing an entrance. An 
old colored family servant who was preparing breakfast 
downstairs heard the noise above and ran upstairs and 
tried to prevent Mrs. Smith from completing her bloody 
work. Mrs. Smith chased her downstairs, and she ran 
instantly for Mr. Smith. He reached the room just as 
his wife was beginning to batter down her daughter's 
door. As soon as his Avife saw him she stopped, and he 
led her downstairs and placed her on the lounge. Her 
.strength then seemed completely gone, and she lay there 
muttering : " God told me to do it. It was the only way. 
I killed them rather than to have tliem liomeless and go 
to liell." Previous to her attacks upon tlio children it 
was found that Mrs. Smith had taken a large dose of rat 
poison, and it is thought she will die. Tlio husband is 
crazed l)y the cjuadruple mui'der and probable suicide. 



Culture op Intellect. 158 

" God told me to do it. I killed them ratlier tlian have 
them homeless and go to hell." The command of God 
and the fear of hell ! What fearful crimes these two de- 
lusions have to answer for ! Better a thousand times that 
religion had never been heard of in this world. — N. Y. 
Truth Seeker, 1S86. 

THE SWALLOW-NEST. 

Louisa came to the mother and said: "Mamma, 
come, I will show j'ou something nice." " What is it ? " 
asked the mother." " Oh, pray, come anyhow ; you will 
see ; it is very nice." The mother went, and Louisa led 
her to a window and said softly, "Look up liere! " The 
mother did so, and saw above under the roof a swallow- 
nest, from which four little bills were stretched, and four 
pairs of little eyes looked forth. " Now look out," said 
the child. The motlier did so, and saw a swallow fast 
drawing near, Avhich carried a fly in its bill, and i)ut it 
quickly into the little open beak of one of the nestliugs, 
flew away and returned again and again. And every 
time she fetched a fly and put it by turns into one of the 
four open bills. All were now filled. The young ones 
twittered merrily, and the old swallow soared in the air, 
minghng her twittering* with theirs. 

"Isn't this nice?" asked the child. "Who told the 
swallow to do so ? Isn't it the good God who Avills that 
all creatures farewell?" The mother replied: "You are 
mistaken, my dear child, for did you not see how the 
poor flies were writhing in the l)ills of the birds? If 
God really wills that every creature fore well, why does he 
let the fly be so cruelly devourcl? No, no, experience 
teaches that it is nature's law that every creature should 



154 The Educating Mother. 

struggle for existence. The strongest of every kind 
usually outlive the weaker ones in the struggle. 

THE MOTHER IS DEAD. 

The mother died. She was lying in the coffin. The 
father led his two oldest sons (one of them fifteen, the 
other seventeen years old) into her presence, and in her 
face reminded them of the many benefits they had re- 
ceived from her during her life, praised the excellent 
qualities of her mind, and made them vow to devote their 
lives to virtue, following the distinguished example of 
their mother. Then he continued: "The mother is 
dead ! We desire heartily to see her again, and to live 
forever in her company; but will this, can this be?" 
Now the younger son commenced to cry aloud: "O 
dear mother, my mother, come back again!" "See," 
said the father, " see her, how she looks ! There appear 
already traces of her decay ; .her complexion is not so 
red as usual; it has turned yellowish; her eyes are 
closed, they can no longer see ; she hears no more our 
voices; her hands are cold and will never again feel 
pain. Can we be sure that she is still alive ? Alas! how 
can it be ? Nevertheless, she continues living, her mind 
lives still in the kind, virtuous acts she has performed 
during her life ; the impressions they have made in our 
minds will not die away, they will last forever. Her 
excellent example must induce you to follow in her foot- 
steps, and to grow more and more like her by application, 
honesty, kindness and benevolence. Peace to her forever 



ELEVENTH LETTER. 

./?:STnETICAL REFINEMENT. 

Mothers ought also to provide for the sesthetical cult- 



Culture of Intellect. 155 

lire of their cliildreu, l)y which to satisfy the sense of 
beauty innate in every man. The culture of this sense 
facilitates the acquirement of virtue, guards against the 
rude excesses of their age, and is for them an affluent 
source of innocent pleasure. This sense can be especially 
cultivated by singing and drawing. Singing is a brancii 
of education Avhich particularly belongs to our depart- 
ment. Every mother should take care in singing, this 
lancfuawG of emotions ; the inclination for it is natural 
to the children, they invent it (if they have no chance 
to learn it). But singing must not be taught at the pi- 
ano in the years of which I am here speaking. Sing 
them rather simple, sweet songs. If but ten pieces are 
learned, the rest will be easy and attractive to the child. 
The words of such songs will be, as I think, best con- 
fined to representing natural phenomena, and expressing 
the feelings peculiar to children. Serenity must be the 
key-note of all the airs. 

Drawing will or would also shorten, in winter, many 
an hour for children five years old, and jirove for them 
real mental culture. What, you will exclaim, nuist I 
instruct my children also in drawing? Dear friend! 
I do not intend thus to enjoin upon you a heavy burden. 
It is sufficient if you teach them to copy simple objects, 
either leaves, blossoms or fruits. For that, we need but 
little skill on our part. If necessary, models can be 
found in stores. Even drawing from nature is not diffi- 
cult as far as plain objects arc concerned. Drawing is 
done with the slate-pencil on the slate. 

Lead your children frequently to the temple of nature, 
in order to make them sensible of her beauties ; show 
them the sunrise, the rainbow, the views from the top of a 



156 The Educating Mother. 

mountain, the starry heavens, the sublime phenomenon 
of a tempest, the fields covered with flowers, grain, woods, 
etc., etc. This intercourse with nature will afford the 
children much pure enjoyment; her charms are inex- 
haustible and ever new. But you must open their eyes 
to see and feel them. The farmer is permitted to see her 
wonders every day, but he passes them by indifferently, 
because he has never learned to appreciate them, or anx- 
ious care encumbers his mind when by heat some ears of 
his wheat are bent.* Says Alexander Humboldt in his 
" Kosmos," second volume : " I would not omit calling at- 
tention to the fact that impressions arising from aj)par- 
ently accidental circumstances often exercise so powerful 
an effect on the youtliful mind as to determine the whole 
direction of a man's career through life. The child's 
pleasure in the form of countries and of seas and lakes, 
as delineated in maps; the desire to behold Southern 
stars, invisible in our hemisphere ; the representation of 
palms and cedars of Lebanon, may all implant in the 
mind the first impulse to travel to distant countries. If 
I might be permitted to instance my own experience and 
recall to mind the source whence spi-ang my early and 
first desire to visit the land of the tropics, I should 
name George Forster's delineation of the South Sea Islands, 
and a colossal dragon-tree in an old tower of the Botan- 
ical Garden of Berlin." Humboldt went when he was 
eighty years old on an exploration journey to Siberia, 
commissioned by the emj^eror of Russia, and gave a glow- 
ing descrij)tion of the beautiful scenery of that country 
to his relative, Bayard Taylor, who paid to the famous 

*Poema of E. Kleist, " Spring." 



Culture of Intellect. 157 

naturalist a visit iu Berlin. Christian Hoelty is right 
Avhcn he sings in one of his poems: "O Avoudrously 
beautiful is God's earth, and worthy to be merry in it; 
therefore I Avill rejoice in it till I am dissolved to ashes." 
And Susan Wixon, author of the " Golden Ap2)les," says : 
" Another summer has found me again down by the sea, 
inhaling the perfume of sweet fern, juniper, pine, cedar, 
and all the sweet-scented leaves and roots that grow, and 
bud, and blossom here, in nature's wild-wood garden, 
mixed and mingled with the salt sea breezes of the rest- 
less, untiring, everlasting ocean. Scenery luirivaled 
meets the gaze at every turn. All combines to make a 
picture so charmingly beautiful that one might easily 
imagine it a scene from fairy-land." * 

The theater is also a principal resort for cultivating 
the aesthetic sense, but not adapted to young children, be- 
cause, in most of the plays, love plays the i)riucipal part ; 
there are but few exceptions, e. g., the patriotic plays of 
Hottinger, professor of Swiss histoiy, in Zurich, com- 
posed' for the youth. But there are a great many dia- 
logues and declamatory pieces which can be used for aes- 
thetic culture of' the mind. 



ILLUSTRATION. 

LITTLE MAT. 

Little Mat could in the town where he lived see noth- 
ing of the beautiful nature but a small piece of the sky, 
as Avide as the street. If his father took him sometimes 
with him into the country, he rejoiced immensely, be- 
cause all things Avere new to him. So he met Avith, at one 

•Boston Investigator, " Familiar Letters," 1886. 



158 The Educating Mother. 

time, a flower, at another a worm, at another a bird which 
attracted his attention. He ran, then, after his father, 
crying, " Father, father, look here, the charming floweret! 
the pretty little bird ! " But the father used to answer, 
" Nonsense ! Did you never see a flower, or a bird ? " 
Once the boy found a big caterpillar. He picked it up 
with surprise and brought it to the father, saying, "See 
the large animal I found." But the father replied, " Fie, 
the ugly creature ! throw it away ! crush it ! " As Mat 
at everything he saw sto]:)ped to admire it, it could not 
haj^pen otherwise but that he often lagged, and his 
father had to wait till he came up with him. The 
father was fretted ; he rebuked him for his delay, saying, 
" Go on, naughty boy ! If you don't walli faster, you 
must certainly stay at home." 

Mat ran again a little ways ; but the eagerness to con- 
sider all things around him was mucli too strong for him 
to be able to subdue it right off. The father had ad- 
vanced but a few steps, when seeing a frog jump, and 
hearing a grasshopper chirp, our Mat stopped again.' At 
length the father got enough of it ; he took Mat's hand, 
dragged him along, and if he still looked sometimes here, 
sometimes there, he commenced visually the following 
tale : " Go on. Mat, go on ! If you will Hvely stride on, 
we shall soon arrive at the village ; there you will be 
more pleased than here in the empty field ; there I will 
order coffee, milk, and eggs — " "And I shall also get 
something?" "Of course, you shall have two cups. 
Only go on ! Hurry up ! There I shall order a couple of 
sausages and beer; that will be fun." Finally, he suc- 
ceeded by this trick in extinguishing entirely the eager 
desire of the boy to admire fair nature. 



Culture of Intellect. 150 

In course of time as lie walked again with liis father 
he strode quickly on, tliought of the cake, of the beer, 
and, to the great jileasure of his father, left nature alone. 
Now he is a man; the truces of his education are still 
evident. When he "EUkes a walk, he hurries through 
ineadows, woods, and fields, not seeing any remarkable 
objects. Before his eyes the lark flics up ; as he enters 
the woods, the nightingale salutes him — he does not 
notice it, for his thoughts are already in the beer-pot. 
Nature attracted only once more his attention, when the 
full moon was rising. He called, then, to his c(5tnpanious : 
" Zounds ! The fair moon, how she hangs there like a 
cake!" 



TWELFTH LETTER. 

CULT0RE OF MEMORY — INSTRUCTION IN THE NATIVE LANGUAGE. 

One of the faculties of the tender child wliieh is most 
capable of culture is memory. AVlio is not astonished 
by the extent of knowledge which it acipiires in the first 
years of life, and, in fact, without our lielp ? What nuist 
it become if its memory through the whole life were so 
active? Its careful cultivaticm is tlic duty of every 
mother. On the first grades of life, single words and 
sentences ofier material for exercises of memory. To 
these belong chiefly memorable verses and proverbs. 
Later, narratives are especially a good material for train- 
ing. In handling the material, provide intuitive con- 
ceptions. If an object cannot be jiroduced in reality, 
have recourse to images. Quite as important is the 
clearness and distinctness of the expression. Therefore, 
obscure passages of tlie subject must be explained, and 
their meaning disclosed to the dull pupil. Keasons must 



160 The Educating Mother. 

illustrate the matter. As similar ideas recall each other, 
you "will fain let be learned by heart words with the 
same initial, rhymes, and series of things of the same 
genus, e. g., glass, grass, gold, goose, grape; bill, hill, 
still, ill, will, kill; dog, spaniel, hound, grayhoimd, ter- 
rier, mastiflp, Newfoundland dog. Exercises of mem- 
ory ought to be diligently carried on with children who 
are five years old. They must often repeat Avhat they 
have learned. Pedagogues advise us, at this age, to lay 
principal stress on the verbal memory, i. e., the pupil 
ought to learn what he learns, word by word. 

An important branch of memory is the gift of repre- 
sentation, or the faculty to communicate to others our 
thoughts and emotions, in a way that strikes the senses. 
The communication is effected by the eye or the ear. 
We represent our mind i^ercejotible to the ear by lan- 
guage and song, visible to the eye by writing and drawing. 
Speech and writing are the usual ways of mental inter- 
course. In particular, tlie native language (mother- 
tongue), to whom can it be more important as an object of 
the earliest instruction than to the mother? Therefore 
I will speak of it first. 

The language of the cliild should demand, at the 
earliest age, all of our attention. But supj)ly first, al- 
ways, correct perceptions of the objects (which aim 
must principally be obtained by cultivating the intuitive 
faculty) ; only then should be of importance to you, that 
it learn, also, the right word for the object. Help it to 
acquire a rich store of ideas. What can language sig- 
nify to a child if it is poor in thoughts? If some 
children learn late to speak, you know now Avhat, in 
most cases, is the reason for it. Children, too, ought to 



Culture of Intellect. 161 

speak correctly. I advise you, for this purpose, to pro- 
nounce a word several times, slowly and distinctly, cor- 
rect their faults in grammar, and invite them to speak. 
IVIother's example will always be the best language mas- 
ter. Dear friend, speak cori'ectly yourself, without l)cing 
afraid of the sneering of your surrounding company, 
and your children will learn to speak correctly. You 
must not overlook tfiat the persons Avho surround them 
also influence their language. Children are very likely 
to confound resembling conceptions and words, e. g., to 
lie and to speak untruly, to jjresent and to lend, stupid 
and mean, etc. Propose, sometimes, erroneous expres- 
sions, and let the child correct them. 

Dear friend, you have wondered several times how it 
was possible that my two oldest children learned so soon 
to read, and you have wished to know how tliis success 
was brought about. As it was my husband who taught 
them reading, he takes the liberty to describe for you 
here his method. 



SUPPLEMENT. 

HOW BOSA AND HENRY LEARNED TO READ. 

In part by the good talent of my oldest children, Rosa 

and Henry, and in part for some other reasons, I was 

induced to try Avhat children four or five years old can 

accomplish, if taught by the new method of reading 

lately introduced into our pubHc schools. One of them, 

Rosa, received, from a kind acquaintance, a primer wdth 

prints, as a present on her third birthday. I drew on 

the slate the printed letters for her ; some, the easier Ones, 

she had also to copy by drawing. When she had finished 

her fourth year, she was able to read books and writings. 
11 



162 The Educating Mother. 

The boy, Henry, learned first the written letters. Be- 
fore that he had frequently to resolve monosyllables and 
dissyllables into their sounds. He also must imitate 
some of the letters on the slate. After half a year he 
spelled little narratives by the- sound of letters. The 
instruction, for the rest, was not carried on rigorously. 
The boy liked it so much that he often asked for it him- 
self. Unbidden, when he was playing, he often spelled 
single words. The method I followed in this instruction 
was chiefly this (still, I would not call this method a 
model; as I said before, I am speaking only of an experi- 
ment). 

IMAGES. 

As I have noticed already, I let Henry resolve the 
vocables into their sounds, e. (j., arn:, a-r-m; hat, h-a-t; 
bed, b-e-d. The vocables were mostly monosyllables and 
dissyllables. Later, I continued this instruction on the 
slate. But in it I did not at first succeed ; the letters 
which the boy ought to copy proved poor, and I could 
see plainly that the Avork bored him. I wished, almost, 
to have Basedow's cake-letters at hand.* By the time 
one letter was learned, another was forgotten. Then I 
liit upon the idea of putting little dramngs in red ink 
by the side of the stiff manikins of letters. I painted, 
therefore, an ox near the letter O, a mouse near the M, 
etc. Now I had found the right way. The draAvings 
reminded Henry fast of the sound of the letter ; he forgot 
nothing more. I must but say, "That's an ox," the 
vocable " ox " commences Avith the sound of " O," the 



*Basedo\v, a celebrated Swiss ])edagogue, when he was the leader of a 
famous institute in Dessau, Germany, gave the children cakes, which repre- 
sented the letters. Of course his luethod was very successful. 



Culture of Intellect. 163 

letter written near the ox sounds also " O." The letter 
had a good mark ; it was kept forever in mind. The 
boy was so nmch pleased with the little pictures that he 
always desired to see them, whereby I did not neglect 
assiduously to recall the sounds of the adjoined letters to 
his memory. In this manner I drew him the following 
small pictures, l\y the side of the usual letters (I follow 
now the alphabetic order of the letters) : Aj^ple, band, 
circle, dove, eagle, fish, gem, house, ice, jacket, keg, lamp, 
mouse, nut, ox, pipe, quill, rice, saw, table, unicorn, vest, 
worm, yoke, zebra. Around every image I wrote the 
appertaining letters several times in different sizes, and 
below several vocables in which it occurs. 

COMPOSITION OF THE LETTERS. 

Another means employed to facilitate Henry in get- 
ting a knowledge of the small alphabet was this: I 
showed him the essential parts of every letter, to which 
end I formed a peculiar, in fact, not quite a methodical 
terminology, e. g., I said : " I is a straight line with a dot 
above ; r is a straight line with a dot to the right hand ; 
a is similar to o, but has in addition a straight line ; 1 
forms a sling ; b is a sling with a dot below ; n is com- 
pound of two, and m of three lines ; g resembles o, but 
ends with a sling below ; t is a straight line with a cross- 
line, etc. 

SERIES OF THE LETTERS — METHOD OF SPELLING BY SOUNDS OF 
THE LETTERS — LETTER-CHEST. 

In order to make the learning still easier for the boy, 
I taught him at first only a few letters, on which I 
stopped a long time, and which I put together in different 
syllables and vocables. These were, besides, letters that 
in the pronunciation are striking, also are easily pro- 



164 The Educating Mother 

Bounced, and have very simple fonixs, e. fj., I and U, B, 
T, and F, D and G. Mere syllables were seldom used, 
because they do not contain any notions ; I exhibited so 
much the more vocables for every single letter. By this 
method the letters came into the most different combina- 
tions, and the imagination of the boy joined their forms 
with so many already familiar vocables that their re- 
membrance also was forwarded ])y this management. I 
did not use at all the customary spelling method, not 
teaching the boy the names, but the sowuh, of the let- 
ters. First, Avhen in a word a new letter came to those 
he had already jironounced, I let him repeat all preced- 
ing ones. According t(j this method he spelled, e. g., the 
vocable, " potato," thus : P-o, ])o ; t, pot ; a, pota ; t, potat ; 
o, potato. After some time it Avas enough to sound the 
single letters of a Avord, and then to combine them all in 
the pronunciation of the Avord ; so he spelled " Adam," 
thus : A-d-a-m, Adam. By this method Henry learned 
to read Avritten exercises before he Avas five years old. 

In order to teach him to read more easily and Avith 
more interest printed pieces, I cut small pieces of paste- 
board, all of the same size, on which I Avrote the printed 
letters, many copies of each one. During the long 
Avinter evenings it Avas the task of the boy to compose 
Avith them for himself certain Avords, which he must file, 
letter to letter. I let his sister take part of this occupa- 
tion, in order to make it more pleasant, and I determined 
a small recompense in case that they succeeded in it. 
In this Avay he acquired the knoAvledge of the printed 
letters from his sister and me Avithin three days, and 
hence this composition Avas to him an agreeable pastime. 
When it was finished all letters Avere collected and kept 



Culture of Intellect. 105 

in a little box. This letter-chest, as they call it, which I 
constructed according to Niemeyer's ad\ace, is generally 
to be recommended. 

Lastly, I recollect stQl with pleasure, that both Henry 
and Rosa liked to spell in the joint collection of narra- 
tives,^ which circumstance may have helped them to 
learn to read faster. At least, it cannot be denied that 
well-selected subjects of reading smooth the notoriously 
thorny pathway of learning to read.f 



THIRTEENTH LETTER. 

THE KINDERG.CRTEN. 

I caimot conclude this part of pedagogics without con- 
sidering the institutes which, you know, are called " Kin- 
dergsertens," in which not only the intellect, but also the 
heart, of the little ones is cultivated. Besides, attention 
is there given to the physical training ; in a word, the 
so-called Kiudergserten educates the whole human being. 
What the single mother, if she has leisure, fair educa- 
tion, and good-will, is to her children, these establish- 
ments of humanity are for all the children of a place. 
They are frequented by children from three to six years 
of age. Usually a Avorthy couple of married persons 
guides them, and takes the place of the parents of the 

*See, after the thirtieth letter, tlie supplement. 

tThis essay on teachinsf to read was written in a German country for 
German children, and can hardij' be closely followed in American schools, for 
the diiference between the German and English pronunciation is too ^reat. 
In the German language the vowels, and indeed the consonants, too (with a 
few exceptions), represent only one sound, but it is not so in English, c. <;., 
the vowel a represents ten different sounds. There are words whose pro- 
nunciation has no similarity at all with the sound of their letters. Still, in 
my opinion, that method is also for b ginners of English spelling the easiest 
and best. When they have learned, according to it, to read plain, easy 
words, then the teacher should follow the usual method, guided by the 
eminent " principles of proifTunciation " imparted in Noah Webster's diction- 
ary, and by a good primer or spelling-hook. [Remark of the editor. 



166 The Educating Mother. 

children. He avIio is prevented by inability or profes- 
sional business to train his children himself, sends theui 
to these institutions, and has them returned to him im- 
proved in both mind and body. Most of the European 
Governments introduced them, because they compre- 
hended their usefulness. We find them in all considera- 
ble cities of Germany, and, every year, new ones are 
started. They ought to become as general as the com- 
mon schools, and the children of the farmer ought also to 
enjoy them. It is evident what a blessing then would 
be diffused throughout whole countries. But until they 
become more frequent, the mental culture of the children 
in the first years of life A\all be the concern, mainly, of 
mothers. But, in most cases, it will either he very im- 
perfect, or destroy the forces of a loving mother. I can 
testify thereto by my own experience; Alas ! how often, 
when I lived in the country, did I desire a Kindergicrten 
near the village school. I was to take care of four 
little children, and had no servant-girl. True, Rousseaii 
insists that the father imparts instruction to his children 
himself, and, indeed, my dear husband taught our two 
oldest children to read, himself But that was fiir from 
being enough. Surely the children could not be reading 
the whole day ; the boys wanted to be in the street with 
their playmates; the two youngest had ten different 
physical wants, and I Avas alone. Then I felt keenly 
how necessary Kindergartens are in the country, and a 
hundred times I expressed to my husliand the desire that 
such an institution might be established in our village. 
Since I have been living in town, and have had two 
boys in the Kindergrerten, I feel new-born. I do not say 
that these institutions arc already perfected, l)ut tliey 



Culture of Intellect. 167 



released me fi*om the care of mental culture and occupa- 
tion of the boy?. In general, tlie education is certainly 
conducted better in the Kindergacrten than at home ; 
there are but fe^v objections which can be raised against 
this general rule. May they, in our own State, soon be 
organized everywhere. 

KnoNnug the interest you take in this subject, I ap- 
pend to my letter an outline of a book that describes in 
full " Froebel's Kindererserten." 



SUPPLEMENT. 

AN OHTLINE UF FROEBEL's KINDERG/ERTEN.* 

What does the name " Froebel's Kindergserten " 
signify? Frederic Froel>el liaving taken hold of the 
idea of founding an institute for sucli cliildren who, for 
the sake of their tender age, are still unable to go to 
school, meditated during a solitary walk, when surrounded 
by unbounded nature, what name he sliould give to the 
new institution, and at last in enthusiasm exclaimed : " It 
shall be called ' Kindergterten.' " It is seen that this 
term is not to be understood in its usual sense, but means 
a kind of preparatory school, whose work is to train for 
the school proper. And the fitness of the expression can 
be easily proved, for we like to compare children, in gen- 
eral, with plants, young trees, and flowers, which need 
the care and culture of the gardener. Considered under 
this image, not only the garden where the little ones 
meet, but even their school-room becomes a garden. 
And what are these Kindergtertens ? Instead of anuoy- 

*M or a is pronounced like a in " at." 



168 The Educating Mother. 

.^ «- 

ing you by a dry definition, I will introduce you directly 
into such a garden. 

We enter a large, clear, and quiet room, wliicli opens 
into a garden, the grass-plots and little flower-beds of 
which we can see through the cleanly washed windows. 
The easily movable tables are placed in such a way that 
they have convenient light; arm-chairs are near them. 
It is 8 or 9 o'clock in the morning. From eighteen to 
twenty-five children, from three to six years old, have as- 
sembled around "the aunt." After they have saluted 
the teacher, and she has satisfied herself of their clean, 
fair apjDcarance, a morning air is sung, then, perhaps, for 
a quarter of an hour, sometliing narrated or read to them 
from a good juvenile writing. We do not see there slates, 
primers, and knit-work ; but the little ones produce their 
caskets, which hide a Avorld of cubes and tablets ; these 
are the building-caskets. In cheerful imitation of the 
parental home, they are building here a table, a chair, 
or a little bench, there a hearth, an anvil, a door, a stair- 
case, or the wall of a room with little stafis, or a whole 
house by sticking the stafis into soaked peas. They ac- 
company their work with a merry song. Whei the chil- 
dren have been about half an hour building, and then, 
perhaps, also have finished their breakfast, they walk into 
the garden, and soon they surround their little beds, in 
order to Avater the flowers, to pull the weeds, or to search 
for the grains which they sowed not long ago. 

Here is a beetle, there an ant, here a bee, there a 
spider to be observed. A bi:isk lambkin bleats cheer- 
fully to the children ; a flock of pigeons fly joyfully down 
over the playground to receive the graius their little 
hands are dealing- out to them. At the side of the gar- 



Culture op Intellect. 169 

den there is the playground of the children. There they 
freely bustle, sometimes in single groups, jumping and 
wrestling, sometimes all joining hands for a general play. 
Now begins the bee-game, which they accompany vnth 
song, then the dove-play follows, and if the weather is 
unfavorable they assemble in the play-room, in order to 
engage in little exercises of order and drilhng which are 
as appx'opriate for the girls as for the boys. 

Tlic half hour of playing has passed, and half an hour 
of working follows. We approach the table at which 
the little ones already are assembled. The aunt gives 
them phant paper. Tbey try to give it. regular forms. 
The square changes to a triangle, a rectangle, this one 
again to a square, and the last to a triangle. Now, out 
from these general forms grow, still successively, special 
figures ; here a table, there a mill, now a boat, a Turk- 
ish ship, now a drawer, a looking-glass. Side walls are 
fastened only by plying, or by cross-barring, or by paste. 
Older children work in pasteboard. At another table 
larger children are seated. Some have little piles of pa- 
per at hand, i e., several white or colored leaves of paper 
put one over the other. On the uppermost page of the 
pile is an image, a flower or another object drawn ; they 
hold a style with a short needle, and pierce the outline 
of these figures by little points so that they simultane- 
ously appear on all those leaves. Near them are seated 
others who paint the pierced leaves with one or several 
colors. They feel happy, for now they can, for a bright 
festival, carve themselves the desire of their heart, and 
present a gift of their own hand to their dear ones. So 
the variegated work goes on. Here larger children cut 
out, and rejoice at the pretty forms they produce. Oth- 



170 The Educating Mother. 

ers make, from colored pieces of paper, net-work for 
pocket-books, tablets, etc. 

Drawing, methodical drawing, forms a principal part 
among the exercises Of conrse here is meant only net- 
drawing, and in straight lines. If the adversaries of 
Froebel's playing method censure many parts, it is differ- 
ent with regard to the last-named branch ; drawing is, 
even by them, acknowledged as a reasonable and praise- 
worthy occupation. 

Finally, moulding is admitted, too, into the Kindergser- 
ten ; true, on the fingers and the little wooden knives the 
child receives for his play, stick particles of the clammy 
clay ; but he can learn hereby that the blouse of the 
workman and his callous hand do not deprive him of 
hig inner Avorth. It is this very property which renders, 
in part, Froebel's idea of education so significant that it 
tries to open every heart for beautiful objects, that, espe- 
cially, it endeavors to elevate the social position of the 
workman by higher culture, and considers it to be the 
task of education. 

According to Froebel's system the playtime of the 
child begins rather early. The mother lulls it, and ac- 
customs it by song to apprehend and imitate sweet tones. 
It learns imperceptibly to know and name many things ; 
it plays and talks Avith them, as with living beings. The 
urgency for fables and stories is scirring. At this station 
of life the tutoress has already a larger area to use the 
child's play as an implement of culture, exercising 
thereby a positive influence upon the child for its entire 
life. 

Froebel gave particular attention to the play and oc- 
cupation with ball, globe, and cube ; thereby the child by 



CuLTimE OF Intellect. 171 

play is getting acquainted w'ith many elements whicli in 
the school 2)ropei' again occur. The first plaything 
he gives to the child is the ball, something that can be 
grasped, the simplest geometric body. The balls can be 
diflerently colored in order to develop the sense of color. 
The ball may liang upon a string, rest, swing, rest on a 
plane, or can roll. An apj)le, &. globe, can take its place. 
The second play-gifts are cube and cylindei*. As tliird 
one appears a building-casket, which contains eight small 
cubes, forming together a large one. The fourth gift is 
again a cube, but divided in eight tablets, which serve for 
building ; the fifth contains a still larger cube, which is so 
divided that three whole, six halves, and twelve quarters 
of a cube are produced. The sixth casket adds still 
longitudinal tablets. With both the whole cube and its 
parts the children represent various forms of life, taste, 
and knowledge ; e. fj., the entire cube can be now a table, 
on whicli something is put for the child, now a chair, 
upon which the mother is seated ^^•ith the child, now the 
chest in Avhich something is h)eked up, etc., etc. With 
the divided cube can an arnvchair, a sofa, a bedstead, a 
cupboard, a trunk, a staircase, a house, door, hamlet, a 
bridge, a pillar be represented. In order to make the 
image more animated, the mother accompanies the play 
with her speech, e. g. : " There is the chair of grandmother, 
upon Avhich she takes her seat ; she takes the child in 
her lap if it is still, and narrates to him something. She is 
yet in the kitchen, and cooks soup for the fatlier." If it is 
a child of a more advanced age, little stories referring to 
the play can be narrated to him. So results from every 
representation something relating to the life of the cliild. 
Hereby Froebel Avants all cubes, at every representation, 



172 The Educating Mother, 

to be used. NotliiBo; shall be left, in this play, unused, 
as it also would not happen in real life. It serves the 
welfare and peace of both. the individual and mankind, 
and is one of the highest aims of these plays, to develop 
betimes the inner and external eye of man for the pru- 
dent formation of the circumstances of life. 

Which is the origin of the Kindergserten, and their 
present state (1872) ? There were schools for Httle chil- 
dren in Germany, England, and France already 50 years 
before. Such one was founded 1830 in Vienna ; it con- 
tained 200 children, and was conducted by a male and a 
female teacher. The Empress of Austria was the patron 
of the institute. In Zurich I found two similar estab- 
lishments. In 1840 Frederic Froebel came forth at the 
public festival of Guttenberg, and founded, the 28th of 
June, the first German Kindergserten in Keilhau, near 
Rudolstadt. First the institute did not prosper; they 
spied out the democrat in Froebel, and doubted his 
orthodoxy because he was devoted to pantheism. In 
Prussia his institutes were prohibited by the ministry of 
j)ublic instruction, and the. interdict lasted valid during 
several years. But the Duke of Meiningcn conceded him 
in 1850 the hunting castle Marienthal for his purpose. 
In 1852 Froebel died. His grave is adorned by a mas- 
sive cube, upon which a column rises sustaining a globe. 
On the cube the words are inscribed : " Come, let us live 
for the childi-en ! " In Munich the Froebel Society had 
(1872) over 700 membei's; they started four Kinder- 
gsertens ; in LeijDsic were seven, in Hambui'g twenty or- 
ganized. In America there are several, viz., in Boston, 
San Francisco, Milwaukee, San Jose (Cal.), and other 
cities. The Kinderga^rten in Hoboken (New York) had 
300 children with three lady teachers (1874). 



CuLTtTRE OP Intellect. 173 

Now, if we inquire for the worth and importance of the 
Kindergserten, their friends and patrons answer us thus : 
It is a fact that, so far, there was lacking an institute 
preparing youth for the time when they would go to the 
school proper ; a fact that domestic education manages 
tliat preparation often imperfectly, or neglects it ; a fact that 
such a deficiency or neglect much impedes or entirely 
friisti'ates the success of the school instruction. 

If a little tree has not been taken care of during five 
or six years, and iu this time lias grown crooked, will the 
gardener easily succeed iu training it straightly ? Further, 
tlierc are in great cities parents who lack either the 
necessary knowledge and experience, or time and oppor- 
tunity, to take care of the education of their children 
themselves. The father must attend to his business far 
from home ; the mother lias her time taken up by tending 
to her housework or nursing a babe. Would it not be 
an advantage for both classes of parents, if an opportunity 
would be offered to them to guard their little ones in a 
Kindergserten against the dangers which menace their life 
and health, and to know they are guided by a tutoress who 
is acquainted with the princii^les of education, and gives 
up herself to her beautiful vocation lovingly and conscien- 
tiously ; in an establisliment where the l)ody of the chil- 
dren can grow strong, their senses be exercised, their 
mind be developed? 

But let us organize Kindergsertens in our oAvn families, 
too. Generally, it is the highest duty of pai'ents, in par- 
ticular of mothers, to take care of the first training of 
their children. K they leave it to hired substitutes, they 
act at least very heedlessly. What could be more 
agreeable, especially for mothers, than to bring up their 



174 The Educating Mother. 

children in the principles of Froebel's Kindergrerten ? 
How blessed is the consciousness of having elicited, de- 
veloped, and cultivated the mental blossoms of oar chil- 
dren, to have planted the seed of virtue and good man- 
ners in the soil of their mind! How pleasant is the 
prospect in the future where the blossoms of their mind 
will ripen to beautiful fruits, and tlie seeds of morality- 
will yield a plentiful harvest ! Therefore I call to you 
Froebel's device, " Come, fathers, mothers, let us live for 
our children." 

Besides Froebel, Dr. A. Douai has written on the 
Kindergserten in English and German. 



Whwi ^epieS. 



MORAL CULTURE. 

"Go, and do thou likewise." — Bible. 



FIRST SECTION— MORAL CULTURE IN GENERAL. 



FOURTEENTH LETTER. 

PRELIjVITNAEY notions — ESSENCE OF REASON AND MIND; DIFFER- 
ENCE BETWEEN RIGHT AND LEGALITY, MORALITY AND MAN- 
NERS, REASON AND INTELLECT, EMOTION AND SENSATION. 

Dearest friend, thank heaven, we have now the 
thorny fields of intellectual training behind us, and 
presently to our educating activity opens a new scene, 
more attractive for the pecuharity of our natiu-e, and 
more apjiropriate to attain the wreath of a more tranquil 
glory ; it is the beautifid region of moral culture of our 
cliildren to wliich I now lead you. In order to render 
my commimication clearer, I shall write first on moral 



Moral Culture. 175 



culture ill general, then on the means and ways to culti- 
vate the hearts of your children for single moral featiu-es 
of character, indeed the noblest Avhich can adorn a juve- 
nile mind. To this iiurpose it will lie necessary to pre- 
mise some preliminary notions. I come to the point. 

You know the splendid parable of the good Samaritan 
which is related in the Bible ; what induced the Samaritan 
to act as he did ? The compassion of his heart, the light of 
reason. Reason is the fountain from which our good actions 
emanate ; reason is the faculty of the mind to discern 
Avhat is good and bad, right and wrong* Reason is also 
called heart, mind (in the strictest sense), and moral 
sense. Right pleases absolutely, not like worldly goods, 
only under certain circumstances ; it pleases universally. 
So, e. g., neither the rascal can refuse his respect to that 
Roman lady^ Cornelia, Avho contemplated the excellent 
education of her sons as her only finery. Right pleases 
also forever ; even after a thousand years will the faithful 
maternal love of the Princess of Schwarzenberg be ac- 
knowledged and admired.* 

As I said, reason is the faculty to discern what is good 
and bad, right and wrong. But this word is frequently 
taken identically with the expression "intellect;" this 
ought not to be, for there is a wide difference between 
both ; e. g., the seizure of the Prince of Enghien shows the 
cunning intellect of Napoleon, but it was not a noble 
deed. The j^rovince of intellect is to select prudently 
the means for fixed j^urposes, but to reason ought to de- 
volve the perception of that which is good and noble. 

It is still necessary to explain the term "mind." I 
shall be short. IMind, in general, is the spiritual nature 

*Sec "illustrations" at the end of the letter. 



176 The Educating Mother. 

or soul of man ; in the stricter sense it is the power of 
emotions and choices. Our actions are preceded by 
emotions, these by perceptions. Emotions and sensa- 
tions are not the same states in man. The sounds of a 
song cause a certain sensation in the organ of hearing ; 
its lieauty or sublimity produces an emotion. The sick 
child has a sensation of its pain ; the emotions of its 
mother are affected by it. The emotions are in a near 
contact Avith the heart ; e. <j., joy makes it beat faster ; 
fear, to tremble, and terror can even paralyze it. For 
this close connection of the heart and our emotions we 
say that a good man has a good heart. Emotions are 
the bridges of our actions, for they rise fi-om perceptions, 
and lead to actions. Vehement emotions are called 
affections; blind affections, passions. The word "feel- 
ing " signifies both sensation and emotion. 

In concluding my letter I wish to direct your atten- 
tion to some other distinctions which belong to this jilace. 
Religion and morality differ. The object of that one is 
God, of this one, man. Quite as different are morality 
and right. The latter may be joined with compulsion, 
Avhich means that its fulfillment may be enforced in case 
of necessity. It is not so with morahty; an enforced 
morality is no morality at all. If the pure intention is 
missing in the performance of a duty of right, Ave prac- 
tice only legality. At last the historical right is to be 
distinguished from the right of reason; that is often 
founded alone in the agreement of men, and tiu'ns a most 
atrocious Avrong. Such Avas, in some States of North 
America, the right to hold slaves. To the contrary, the 
right of reason (natural law) is Avritten by natui'e Avith 
indelible characters in every feeling himian heart. Fi- 



Moral, Culture. 177 

nally, how far mere good manners are from moralit}- — of 
tliat not a word more. Without that this letter became 
longer than I wished ; in every case it suffices to under- 
stand the following letters easily. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE GOOD SAIMAKITAN.* 

A certain lawer stood up and said to Jesus, " Who is 
my neighbor?" Jesus answering, said: "A certain 
man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell 
among thieves, who stripped him of liis raiment, 
wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead. And 
by chance there came down a certain priest that way ; 
and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. 
And likewise a Lc\"ite, when he was at the place, came 
and looked on him, and passed by on the other side. 
But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he 
was, and when he saw him he had compassion on him, 
v.ent to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil 
and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him 
to an inn, and took care of him, and on the morrow when 
he departed, he took out two pence and gave them to the 
host, and said vmto him, 'Take care of him; and what- 
soever thou spendest more, when I come again I ^-ill re- 
pay thee.' Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was 
neighbor unto him that fell among the thieves? ' And he 
said, " He that showed mercy on him." Then said Jesus 
unto him, " Go and do thou like^nse." 

PRINCESS PAULINA SOHWARZENBERG. 

As Emperor Napoleon I. married ]\Iaria Louisa, of 
*Bible. j„ 



178 The Educating Mother. 

Austria (1810) a splendid ball in the imj)erial palace 
concluded the ceremonies of the nuj)tials. Princess 
Paulina Scliwarzeuberg, of Vienna, a friend of the young 
empress, also took part in it as one of the ball guests. 
During the nocturnal festival, when the whole assembly 
were dancing, the sudden cry was heard, " Fire, fire in 
the palace ! " So it was. The conflagration increased 
raj)idly. All the dancers flew from the ball-rooms ; so 
did Pauline Schwarzenberg, but her daughter was missing. 
None of the company had seen her, none could give 
the mother intelligence of the absent. Now she rushed 
back into the emjDty apartments, hastening from one to 
the other, searching and hallooing after the beloved one, 
but to no use ; no answer was returned to her. Fire and 
smoke grew fiercer, and wrapped wp the unhappy mother ; 
she died in the flames. Meanwhile her daughter was 
safe, having retired in time fi'om the ball-rooms. The 
mother had died a sacrifice for her child ! 



FIFTEENTH LETTER. 

MEANS OF MORAL CULTURE. 

The most efficacious meaifs wliich serve for moral cult- 
ure are the oral and written instruction, the example, 
recompenses and punishments. Ignorance j)rotects at 
least against deterioration of" the naturally sound condi- 
tion of mind. To these means lailarious games are to be 
added. Let me now consider each of these ways of cult- 
ure in particular. I commence with the instruction im- 
parted by the living word of the mother. 

Both knowledge of morals and of rights are also im- 
portant objects in the instruction of young children. The 
following articles of ethics ousrht to be communicated to 



Moral Culture. 179 



them. Of the duties toward oui-selves : " Be cautious in 
all your actions; be tenijierate in the use of food and 
drink ; be clean in every respect ; use every ojjportunity 
to learn useful things ; do nothiug for which you must 
blush if the parents should sec you." Duties towards 
other persons : " Be kind and polite, sincere and true, oblig- 
ing and benevolent towards everybody. Obey, honor, and 
love i^arcnts, and bo grateful to them. You should re- 
spect and honor aged people, be polite toward strangers, 
pardon your playmates, if they offend you, and never 
return evil for evil. Finall}', plague uc animal." 

Communicate, also, the motives of these duties to the 
cliildren, if they are able to vmderstand them, and they 
are oftener able to do it than we think. Children, too, un- 
derstand arguments of reason ; at least they feel their 
weight. Rcpi'esent their behavior as beautiful, good, 
praiseworthy, and agreeable to you ; inform them of the 
consequences of bad actions, e. g., the imprudent hurts 
his health, the lazy incurs shame and contempt. Exam- 
ples should be given to illustrate the doctrine of duties 
and to incite the imitative instinct. For the rest, ethics, 
too, must be taught only occasionally. At best you could 
give regular instruction to your William, who is five years 
old, every week for half an hour. Concerning the 
younger children, you instruct them best sometimes be- 
fore, sometimes after an action which they ought to per- 
form. I warn you against long, frequent moralizing. 
Your speech should be always vigorous, penetrating into 
the heart, intelligible and decent. So much as to the in- 
struction in morals, now a word on the doctrine of rights. 

Impart, even to the child, the notion of the right of 
property, and that of liberty. Of duties of right, it 



180 The Educating Mother. 

should learn: "Fulfill what you have promised; steal 
nothing, let everyone have his own ; don't damage the 
projierty of others." PerhajDS you Avill find William able 
enough to comprehend also the ideas of fatherland, 
State, citizen, etc. The perceptions of robbery, murder, 
and, in general, of real crimes, are no objects of knowl- 
edge for children. Let us beware against making chil- 
dren acquainted with things which even adult people had 
better never have learned to know. 



ILLUSTRATION. 

BENEVOLENCE TOWARDS ENEMIES. 

\_Motlher, Tier son Henry, and Conrade, his playmate.'] 
Mother. " Henry, to-day you gave some of .your cher- 
ries to William ; why did you not give some to Conrade ?" 
Henry. " Because I am angry with him." 
31. "It is too bad, in any case, to be angry. My son 
ought to be good, not bad. But why are you angry 
with your playmate?" 

H. " He beat me, yesterday, though I did not oifend 
him." 

M. "Softly, softly, my child! Did I not hear you call 
him, first, a sneering nickname ? Only after that you 
both fell out in a dispute which ended wth strokes. See, 
that is the usual way it occurs. If diflPerences arise, in 
most cases both parties are in fault. Tit for tat. No 
matter, you did not act gently as you gave him a cold 
refusal. I saw a tear in his eye ; your hardness grieved 
him. Still, he asked you so kindly to give him. What 
harm would it have been to give a few cliei-ries to a for- 
merly dear and beloved jilayfellow ? If you had kindly 
spoken to him, " There, Conrade, take this, I will requite you 



Moral Culture. 181 

good for bad " — I bet such words would have delighted 
the boy. He would have regretted his wrong, and you 
both would be again good friends. AVhat will you 
then do? Continue to hate Conrade? No, you must 
pardon him, and reconcile with him. In any other 
way you do not deserve my love. Remember the noble- 
hearted man who withdrew his mortal enemy from a 
precijiice, on the brink of which he was sleeping, and 
saved his life. Will you be less generous ? Look, there 
Conrade goes ; shall I call him ? — Conrade ! hark ! Henry 
mshes to speak a good word to you." 
\_Co)irade comes.^ 

H. " Are you still angry with me because I did not give 
you cherries. Here, take half of this cake, and be again 
kind to me." 

Conrade. " You shame me, my dear, good Henry. I 
struck you, and you share your cake Avith me. Oh, par- 
don ! I shall no more offcnd you with a word." 

31. " That's right, boys. Now, to assure your recon- 
cilement, shake friendly hands. It will afford you bless- 
ing, for every good action bears within the good conse- 
quences." 

SIXTEENTH LETTER. 

CONTINUATIOX. 

If the children grow iip, and the energy of their mind 
is increasing, we should also enlarge the limits of moral 
instruction. The following remarks may be of some use 
to you : — 

True, reason is a force innate to the human mind, 
the lack of which no art of educating can supply (and it 
is fortunate that it is so, for otherwise the stakes of In- 



182 The Educating Mother. 

quisition and the guillotine would have annihilated it 
long ago), but it develops first by education. Listruction 
and example must co-operate to this end. 

Therefore (1) let your children often give their opinion 
on their own and on others' actions ; only avoid, in the 
first case, the illusion of self-love which likes to meddle 
with our judgment, if our own faults are in question. Let 
them pass sentence in cases where right and duty are at 
variance with the welfare of the acting person, and where 
morality is hostile to mere manners. Where your own 
experience is not sufficient, have recourse to history and 
moral narratives. 

(2) Prevent carefully the pernicious influence of out- 
side sophistry. In many books, and more frequently in 
real life, vice is adorned, virtue ridiculed. Daily we 
palhate faidts, admire ambitious actions, idolize the 
grandees of the world, praise birth, riches, and power 
hke virtues. To the contrary, noble exj)loits are often 
mistaken, sometimes even recompensed w'ith prison and 
death. Must I remind you of the Wise of Athens, the 
great civilizer of youth, Socrates ? How were his efibrts 
to teach virtue appreciated ? He had to drink the poi- 
soned cup ! How many teachers of modern times have 
experienced a similar, although less cruel, fate ; e. g., the 
writings of Rousseau were, in his own country, burned 
by the hangman, and where his monument now shines, 
years ago his " Emile," this code of education, flamed upon 
the stake. Not" less the ideas of right are attacked. 
Freedom of nations is in our age a fearful word, hated 
and forbidden like treason by many Governments. Dear 
friend, take care that your children, as they grow uj), 
are deaf against such spurious wisdom, and listen to the 



Moral Culture. 183 



sacred voice of reason. Proclaim to them what is good, 
right, and honorable with high enthusiasm. Call what 
is bad and mean by its true name, however people judge 
it. 

(3) Chiefly show to your children that there is some- 
thing higher than food and earthly dross. " Life is not 
the highest good of man, but the greatest evil is guilt."* 
Let them recognize the ideas of reason in real life, and 
in history of past times, with irresistible certainty; too 
easily they are in life ridiculed away. 

(4) Moral proverbs are also much adapted to this 
piirpose. They contain practical wisdom in short sen- 
tences, and usually have a striking force to prove their 
truths. But some are suspicious, or really false ; against- 
such youth mutt be cautioned, e. g., boys are boys; tit 
for tat; charity begins at home; God defends the right; 
the voice of the people is the voice of God, etc., etc. 



ILLUSTRATION. 

WAB. 

[Mother and son^ 

Son. " What men are passing by?" 

Mother. " They are militia-men, who are marching to 
the frontier of our country." 

8. "But why are they armed with sword and rifle?" 

M. " Li order to drive back bad men, if they should 
have a mind to enter forcibly into our country." 

S. " What do they want here ? " 

M. " What they want ? They will rob us of our prop- 
erty, nay, even take our life." 

*Schiller. 



184 The Educating Mother. 

S. " The Avickecl, wicked men ! What harm have we 
done to them ? " 

M. " No harm ; their king demanded of us to expel 
one of our fellow-citizens, whom he hates.* We would 
not comply with his demand, therefore he sends his troops 
to compel us to comply ; that is, he wages war against us." 

S. " A bad king ! May it not chance that the father 
must also march along ! " 

M. " Child, in the utmost necessity all able-bodied men 
must march to the frontier, and fight careless of life and 
death." 

S. " Heaven forbid ! " 

31. " We hope so ; they speak already of speedy peace. 
Meantime, a brave warrior is resolved to give his life for 
right and liberty. But your guide be the proverb, ' Do 
right, and fear nobody.' 'With or upon the shield,' 
a Spartan mother said to her son, when she armed him 
for the fight with the enemies. If a Spartan fell in the 
battle, you know, he was carried upon his shield out of it." 



SEVENTEENTH LETTER. 

. CONCLUSION". 

If the question is a sj)ecial case of performance of a 
duty, besides those rules the following suggestions should 
be considered : — 

1. In order to induce to moral actions, three moments 
must precede : The annunciation of the duty, its acknoivl- 

"Louis Napoleon, nephew of Napoleon I., lived, after tlie dethronement of 
his uncle, in Switzerland, where ho enjoyed the citizenship; but he excited 
an insurrection in Fiance for the purpose of overthrowing King Louis PhiUppc. 
The French Government demanded his expulsion frcjm Switzerland, and as 
this country did not comply with the demand, a FrGuch army occupied the 
frontier of Switzerland, wtiicli also sent troops there. Louis Napoleon did 
not longer opiiose, but left the country of his own accord, and France theo 
withdrew her army. 



Moral. Culture. 185 

edgment, the moral resolution. The first condition comes 
from the educator, the hist from the pupil, the second 
from both. The annunciation of the duty requires its 
clear and true discussion. Motives must be alleged in 
order to -make the obligation evident. They are drawn 
from reason. According to the diversity of relations, the 
consideration of the consequences of the action can be 
joined to the motives. The arguments of reason rest, in 
general, upon the beauty and dignity of virtue. Ac- 
cordingly with particular circumstances, they are drawn 
from the duty of universal respect and love towards man- 
kind, of love towards the parents, etc., etc. 

In order to make evident to the pupil his obligation, 
usually the plain statement of his circumstances suffices. 
Tlie acknowledgment follows immediately after the dis- 
cernment is obtained. Hereby you nuist break u^) his 
evasions, doubts, and objections. Usually, sensuality is 
the counsel with whom the pupil takes refuge if ^i de- 
mand of reason is annoying. Your behavior should 
then be serious and decided. 

Lastly, the moral resolution depends iqwn the j)upil 
himself, and nothing in the Avorld can compel him to be 
willing for something freely, with moral inclination. 
Many are willing because they must it be. In this case 
the moral Avortli of the action is, of course, imdone. All 
means that the educator, then, possesses are remonstrances, 
which, however, seldom miss their efficacy, if they i)ro- 
ceed from the heart, and are laid to heart with energy 
and feeling. For the rest, the power of will is aston- 
ishing, nay, the greatest of man. Therefore,^it is one of 
the first rules of education to accustom the children to 
iron firnmess of willing. That they also are capable of 



186 The Educating Mother. 

it, amougst others, the Spartan boys jirove, some of whom, 
at their plays, permitted themselves to be flogged until 
they dropped dead, without even uttering a word of 
complaint. 

2. In order to urge to actions, the educator must still 
excite animated feelings. Lively feelings of what is to 
be done must be kindled in the mind of the pupil. The 
respect towards duty must grow heart-felt and strong. 
The vileness of an opposite behavior must be vividly 
painted, and the sublimity and beauty of the action rep- 
resented with glowing colors. Let the language of the 
tutor be vigorous, animated, and earnest. His coun- 
tenance ought to express his satisfaction with virtue, and 
his detestation of sin. Examples must be given ; they 
assist much in forming moral resolutions ; but untruth 
and exaggeration must be avoided. 

Still sometimes all exhortations of the educator are 
useless. The heart of the child remains cold or irresolute ; 
not only so, perhaps it perseveres even in its immoral 
intentions. In this sad case at least the external action 
ought to be enforced or hindered. Mere legality must 
substitute the place of morality ; but let wdiat ought to 
be done be done quickly; delay is mostly dangerous. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICZ. 

[Albert and Frederic, two youngsters.'] 
Albert, (stojjs suddenly, stoops, and takes up something 
from the ground) " Hey ! Look here, Fred, what I found ! 
It is really heavy." 

Frederic, (^looking at it) "That's a package with 
money; look, here it is written: 'Containing fifty dol- 
lars.'" 



Moral Culture. 187 

Alh. {jumping) " How lucky ! There are twenty-five 
dollars for each of us. Let us share it right away." 
(Tries to take the xxickarje from his hand.) 

Fred. " You pretend that the money belongs to us." 

Alb. (looking ivith surprise to him) "Belongs to 
us ? To whom else does it belong ? " 

Fred. "To him who lost it." 

Alb. " But who knows who it is ? " 

Fred. " We must try to find him out." 

Alb. " How shall we go about it ? " 

Fred. " Do you not know what the teacher the other 
day told us ? We deposit the money in the police-ofiice ; 
it will then be published that the money has been found, 
and he who then can prove that he lost it, recovers it." 

Alb. "And if nobody presents himself ?" 

Fred. " Not till then are Ave permitted to keep it." 

Alb. " I tell you, Fred, I hope nobody Avill apply for it." 

F7'ed. " That isn't probable ; I rather believe that the 
inquiry for the lost will prevent our information." 

Alb. " But could we not " 

Fred. "Well, what?" 

Alb. " Keep silence, and feign to have found nothing, 
for nobody has " 

Fred, (interrupting him) " Thus you mean that we 
should turn thieves ; for such ones we should be, if we 
knowingly and purposely kept strange property. No, 
Albert, if you are such a mean boy, I will not see you 
any more." 

Alb. (frightened) "Thieves? No! If you are mean- 
ing that but, nevertheless, it's very disgusting. I 

was ah-eady so glad of it." 

Fred. " Let us be glad that he who lost the money wiU 



188 The Educating Mother. 

recover it. Perhaps it was a jioor messenger, who is now 
in the greatest fear, and consoled only by the hope that 
some honest man has found it." 

Alb. " You are right, Fred ! My thoughts were AVander- 
ing in a bad road ; it must not happen again in future." 
(He gives him Ms hand.) 

Fred. " My father always says : ' Honesty is the best 
policy,' and my heart tells me that he is right." 

TELEMACHUS.* 

Telemachus, son of Ulysses, when fifteen years old, was 
searching his father, who, on his return from Troja, went 
during ten years astray. His governor was the goddess Mi- 
nerva, in the form of an old man, called Mentor. By tem- 
pests they were driven to the island Ogeechee (now Gozo), 
near Malta, Avhich the goddess Calypso owned. She fell 
in love witli the young man. But he was enamored by 
a young iiyinph, Eucharis, and, notwithstanding the en- 
treaties of Mentor, would not give up her company. 
Mentor, then, precipitated him into the sea, and a ship 
received them both. 

Mentor had noticed that Calypso loved Telemachus 
passionately, and that he loved not less the young nymph 
Eucharis, who used a thousand artifices to retain him in 
her snarc-i. Calypso became jealous of her, and ordered 
Mentor to build a ship in Avhich he and his pai)il should 
depart from the island. Mentor did so ; but Eucharis 
Avould not give up her captive. She taunted Telemachus : 
" What pity for you," said she, " to live under the con- 
trol of such a rude master ! Nothing can soften his rigor, 

*" Tcl6maque," liv. 7 feme, by F^nelon. 



Moral Culture. 189 



he hates every pleasure, and does not wish you to enjoy 
anyone. It was all right to be ruled by him when you 
could not conduct yourself, but after having shown so 
much wisdom, you must not consent longer to be treated 
like a child." These words pierced the heart of Tcle- 
machus ; he did not know what to do ; at last ho ex- 
claimed: "O my true father! deHver me of so many 
evils!" INIentor embraced and encouraged him, saying: 
" Recall all your courage ! Why do we hesitate to leave 
this island where virtue cannot abide ? " He seized his 
hand, and dragged him away towards the shore. Tele- 
machus followed, whether he would or not, always look- 
ing back. He saw Eucharis, who A\dthdrew from him. 
As he could no longer see her face, he looked at her fine 
black tresses, her floating robe, and her majestic gait. 
Even as he lost her view, lie listened still to her voice. 
Finally he said : " I am resolved to follow^ you, but I did 
not l)id farewell to Eucharis. Stop only till I have said 
her the last adieu. There is no more love in my heart, 
I feel nothing but friendship and gratitude towards her." 
" Oh, how do I pity you," replied INIentor, " you are like 
the man Avho, delirious from fever, cries : ' I am not sick.' 
O blind Telemachus ! You are prepared to renounce your 
mother, Penelope, who expects you, your father, whom 
you will see, Ithaca, where you shall govern, and glory ; 
you would renounce all these goods to live dishonoral>ly 
witli Eucharis. Fly, Telemachus, fly ! your foolish love 
can be vanquished only by flight. If Avisdom in you over, 
comes love, I live, and live happy ; but if love drags you 
away in spite of wisdom. Mentor can live no longer." 

Whilst Mentor was speaking thus, he continued his 
way to the sea, and Telemachus let himself be led with- 



190 The Educating Mother. 

out resistance. At last they arrived at a place where the 
shore was steep, beaten by the foaming billows. They 
look for the ship Mentor had built, but, oh horror! they 
see it in flames ; the nymphs of Calypso had set it on 
fire. Telemachus cried: ''See me, then, re-engaged in 
my bonds ; there is no more hope to leave this island." 

Mentor saw well that Telemachus would fall again 
into his former weakness, and that there was not a mo- 
ment to be lost. He perceived from far, in the midst of 
the waves, a ship being at a stand, not venturing to ap- 
proach the shore because all pilots knew that the island 
of Calypso was inaccessible to all mortals. At once the 
wise Mentor pushes Telemachus, who was seated on the 
vei'ge of the rock, precijDitates him into the sea, and 
throws himself into it at the same time. Telemachus, 
stunned by this sudden fall, drank the salt water, and 
became the sport of the waves ; but, recovering his senses, 
and seeing Mentor, who tendered him the hand, to help 
him to swim, he strove only to withdraw from tlie fatal 
island. They reached the ship. Telemachus felt his 
courage and love of virtue revive with joy. "O my 
father," he exclaimed, "how much do I owe to you for 
having given me your assistance ! I fear no more, neither 
the ocean, nor the tempests, but only^ my passions." 



EIGHTEENTH LETTER. 

THE EXAMPLE OF THE PARENTS, EROTHEK.S AND SISTERS, AND 
COMPANIONS OF YOUTH. 

Words induce, examples impel. My younger friend, 
we have now arrived at the great commandment of 
moral education : " Set your children moral examples." 
If the child of many a day-laborer makes the heart of a 



Moral Culture. 191 

prince asliained, find the reason of it in the power of the 
educating example. Good parents can sometimes bring 
uj) bad children, but bad ones never good ones. I think 
it, therefore, to be the greatest fortune of a child to have 
honest parents; neither ancestors, nor riches, nor in- 
tellectual refinement of the parents outweigh this ad- 
vantage. Preach to your children the most sublime 
morality ; l)ut if your actions contradict your words, they 
will fruitless pass away. The most important maxim of 
education, which ought to be repeated on every page of 
pedagogic works, is, therefore, "parents, first practice 
virtue yourselves, if you wish that your children become 
virtuous." Especially to our hands is the moral fate of 
the children committed, for we are most time with them. 
While professional business keeps the father far from 
them, we have an opportunity to observe them. We 
have to manage their education in the first years almost 
alone, but in this epoch the foundation of moral culture 
is laid. For this reason it is the first duty of a mother 
that she practice virtue herself. She who will not do so, 
shall, at least, avoid the ai^pearance of scandal, hide the 
sight of her own tresspasses from the eyes of her children, 
in order to not destroy their innocence. Far, very far, 
human baseness sometimes passes. There were fathers 
(history mentions among them first the pious Lot — Gen. 
19:30-38) who abused their own daughters to satisfy 
their bestial lust. Mothers were known who sold their 
daughters to voluptuous roues. But there are no more 
such parents nowadays! My dear friend, I repeat it, 
let it be our first care to set the children a good example. 
Next to our example, nothing influences the morality 
of children so much as that of brothers and sisters, play- 



192 The Educating Mother. 

mates, early friends, and, in general, of children of the 
same age. Only in the company of their equals chil- 
dren learn candor, compatibility, and sympathy. But 
they catch also many had quahties in this society. 
Here, also, appears the want of Kindergajrtens, in Avliich 
the moral behavior of children can be exactly Avatched 
and adjusted; as long as these institutes do not become 
more numerous, the innocence of many a child will still 
be wrecked upon the cliffs of seduction. The school 
proper, too, if not strictly controlled, easUy degenerates 
into an estabhshment of moral corrujjtion. Many scholars 
here received the first instruction in a certain secret \ace. 
This was also the case in seminaries and boarding-schools, 
where even the unnatural separation of the sexes brings 
on a hundred moral dangers. Therefore J. P. Richter 
says : " Mingle the sexes, in order to annul them. To 
the contrary, a school for girls or boys alone, I answer 
for nothing!" A Catholic j^riest to whom, in a miUtary 
academy, the pupils confessed their sins, told to my hus- 
band that most of two hundred boys and young men of 
the institute accused themselves of lewdness! And a 
young countess, who, when she was a child, was educated 
in a seminary to which only daughters of patrician fami- 
lies Avere admitted, confessed in later time to her governess 
that the girls of that institute also practiced the vice of 
self-pollution. It is a frequent defect of schools and 
private institutes that the teachers and educators are not 
married, perhaps are not even permitted to get married, 
as is the case in convents and monasteries Avith nuns and 
monks. 

It is also a sad truth that nurses, maid-servants, and 
family friends exercise a great influence in the moral 



Moral CuLTURr:. 193 



training of children. This influence ahvavts t^hoald be 
considered. What directive rules result from these ob- 
servations for the educating mother ? 

Select the young companions and playmates of your 
ehihh-en cai'efully ; don't admit rough or really immoral 
ones; forbid and check their intercourse ^vith them rigor- 
ously. But do not deprive them of all intercourse with 
children. To the contrary, children ought to be often in 
company together. Exterior refinement of the playmates 
is thereby of less importance. 

A blessing is the influence which well-educated older 
brothers and sisters exert on younger ones. Educate, 
therefore, Emma, your first-born (hiughter, v.ith uniT- 
mitting care, and you will make your calling mucli easier. 
AVith joyful emotion I I'emember here my oldest child, 
Ivosa, who many times was the jn'otecting genius of her 
younger brothers. 

Avoid pointing frequently to other children, and to 
compare yours with them. This easily causes jealousy, 
envy, and disconh Exti-aordinary examples, too, eftect 
not mucli ; they only excite astonishment, and leave the 
heart cold. At all events you nuist direct the attention 
of the pupil to the intentions Avhich are at the bottom 
of the represented examples; if the child does not know 
these, it will be a chameleon Avh.ich imitates at one time 
good actions, at another bad ones. 

If you send your pon.s (concerning daughters, it is al- 
most never advisable) to seminaries, I can approve such 
an enterprise but with great restrictions. It must not be 
done but in their maturer years, when the moral character 
has grown rather strong. Their absence from }'oii nmst 
not last many years. During the epoch of their absence 



194 The Educating Mother. 



at least quarterly testimouials must ]3e given you by of- 
ficial report of the jjrogress of their education. The in- 
stitute must have a good reputation, and be well known 
by you ; must not be frequented by hundreds, and, finally, 
not be under the control of such persons as are forbidden 
to get married. Where these conditions are carried into 
effect, the distant institution can supply the parental 
home Avith regard to mental culture, but never in resfiect 
to morality. The tender plant of innocence and virtue 
nowhere thrives as well as in the domestic soil, especially 
if tended and cultivated by an intelligent, loving mother. 



■ ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE CRUEL KDjIAN. 

Kilian was, according to the statement of the whole 
community, a real tyrant. After dinner it was his usual 
pastime to pull up the dog by the ears, and to shake him 
fiercely. If he rode on horse-back a mile, froth Avould 
flow from the mouth of his horse, and its loins bleed fi'om 
the spurs. He used to load twice as much as others on 
his wagon. His wife was lame in consequence of ill-treat- 
ment he inflicted on her. If he chastised his children 
(which often haiipened) he cudgeled them cruelly. 

But what was the reason that he became so inhuman ? 
His father gave him the bent for that. "When he was 
young he brought to liim the nestlings of all sparrows 
and linnets. The little Kilian took and stripped them, 
cut off their wings and legs, and Avould die with laughing, 
if they weltered in their blood. If the father wanted to 
kill a pigeon, he first distorted her wing-s, and gave it to 
Kilian as a iDlaything. Bo it was no wonder that the 
boy became a tyrant. 



MoRAii Culture. 195 



LITTLI': ANDREW. 

If the little Andrew fell or stumbled, he cried murder ; 
liis parents came in haste to appease him, fetched a whip, 
beat the object Avhich he l)clieved to be the cause of his 
pain, and cried : " You infamous chair, you ugly st(jne, I 
will teach you to be gentle ;" then they gave him the la&h 
in order to wliip these objects, too ; in this Avay lie Avas 
calmed. If the mother would wash his face, he behaved 
unmannerly ; then she cried : " Phylax, the base dog, was 
again here, and soiled your face, but I shall reward him." 
The towel was hardly put aside wiien she began to thrash 
the dog. The maid-servant had to feel his anger because 
she used to be near him ; lie struck and scratched her, 
etc., etc. If the girl became angry, and Cuffed his hands, 
he set up a wild cry' the parents scolded her, and said: 
" Beware to lay hands on our child. You see that he is 
a little child. He Avill not have t<irn 3'our big, rustic 
face." And the girl was discharged. 

In this manner Andy was brought ujj. As he grew 
older he sometimes struck liis parents. 



BEATRICE CK>fCI.* 

Beatrice Cenci, called "the beautiful parricide," was 
the daughter of Francesco Cenci, a wealthy Roman no- 
bleman. He treated his children in a revolting manner, 
and was even accused of having murdered two of his 
sons. The beauty of Beatrice inspired him witli the 
horrible and iucestuous desire to possess her jierson. 
With mingled lust and hate he persecuted her from day 
to day, until circumstances enabled him to consummate 
his brutality. The unfortunate girl besought the help of 



'The Cenci," a tiagedj by P. B. Shelley. 



196 The Educating Mother. 

her relatives, and of Pope Oement VII., but did not re- 
ceive it; Avhereupon, in company with her step-mother, 
and her brother Giacomo, she planned and executed the 
murder of her unnatiu'al parent. The crime was discov- 
ered, and both she and Giacomo were put to the torture ; 
the brother confessed, but Beatrice persisted in the decla- 
ration that she was innocent. All, however, were con- 
demned and put to death (1599). It has been stated 
that the princijial reason for refusing clemency was the 
avaricious desire, on the part of the Pope, to confiscate 
and possess the estate of the murdered man. 

PERSONS OF THE S(]ENE. 

Count Francesco Cenci. Orsino, a prelate. 

Bernardo, his son. Lucretia, wife of Cenci. 

Cardinal Camillo, Beatrice, his daughter. 

Olimpio and Marzio, assassins. 

ACT II, SCENE I. 

Cenci. The all-beholding sun yet shines ; I hear 
A busy stir of men about the streets ; 
I see the bright sky through the window-pane. 
Come, darkness ! Yet what is the day to me ? 
And wherefore should I wish for night, Avho do 
A deed which shall confound l)oth night and day V 
'Tis she shall grope through a bewildering mist 
Of horror ; if there be a sun in heaven, 
She shall not dare to look upon its beams 
Nor feel its warmth. Let her, then, wish for night. 
The act I think shall soon extinguish all 
For me ; I bear a darker, deadlier gloom " 
Than the earth's shade, or interlunar air. 
Or constellations quenched in murkiest cloud, - 
In which I walk secure and unljeheld 
Towards my purpose. — ^Would that it were done ! 

ACT III, SCENE I. 

[Lmereiia; to her enters Beatrice, she enters staggering, 
and speaks wildly.^ 



Moral Culture. 197 

[hurt, 

Beatrice. Reach me that haiKlkerchiet'! jMy lirain is 
My eyes are full <^f l)l(jo(l ; j ust wipe them for me — 
I gee but iudistinctly. 

Lucretia. My sweet child, 
You have no wound ; 'tis only a cold dew 
That starts from your dear brow. Alas! alas! 
What has befallen? 

Beat Hiiw comes this hair undone! 
Its wandering strings must be Avhat blind me so, 
And yet I tied it fast. Oh, horril)le ! 
The pavement sinks under my feet! the walls 
Spin round! — My God! 

The beautiful blue heaven is flecked with blood ! 
The sunshine on the floor is l)laek ! the air 
Is changed to vapors such as the dead breathe 
In charnel pits! 
Oh ^vorld ! oh life ! oh day ! oh misery ! 

Luc. "What ails thee, my poor child? She answers not. 

Beat. I thought I was that wretched Beatrice 
Men speak of, whom her father sometimes hales 
From hall to hall l)y the entangled hair ; 
At others, pens up naked in damp cells 
Wliere scaly reptiles crawl, and starves her there 
Till she will eat strange flesh. 
Horrible things have been in this wild world. 
But never fancy imaged such a deed — 

Lne. Alas ! Avhat has befaUeu thee, child ? 
What has thy father done? 

Beat. What have /done? 
Am I not innocent ? Is it my crime 
That one with white hair and imperious brow, 
Who tortured me from my forgotten years 
Ag parents only dare, should call himself 
INIy father, yet should be — oh ! what am I ? 

— If I try to s^^eak 
I shall go mad. Ay, something must be done ; 
What, yet I know not — something which shall make 



198 The Educating Mother. 



The thing that I have suffered but a shadow 
In the dread lightning which avenges it ; 
Brief, rapid, irrevertible, destroying 
The consequence of what it cannot cure. 

[Enter Oralno. She approaches him solemnly^ 

AVelcome, friend ! 
I have to tell you that, since last we met, 
I have endured a A\Tong so great and strange 
That neither life nor death can give me rest. 

Orsiiio. And what is he who has thus injured you? 

Beat. The man they call my father, a dread name. 

Ors. Accuse him of the deed, and let the law 

Avenge thee. 

Beat. Oh, ice-hearted counselor! 
Think of the offender's gold, his dreaded hate, ' 
And the strange horrors of the accuser's tale. 
Baffling belief-, and overpowering speech. 

Ors. You Avill endure it then ? 

Beat. Endure! Orsino, 
It seems your counsel is small profit. 

[Turns from him and sjjeaks halj to herself. 1 

Ay, 
All must be suddenly resolved and done. 

ACT IV, SCENE II. 

[Olimpio and Marzio (ctssassins) , Lucretia, Beatrice^ 

Olimpio. How feel you to this work? ' 

Marzio. As one who thinks 
A thousand crowns excellent market price 
For an old murderer's life. Your cheeks are pale — 

[Enter Beatrice and Lucretia.'j 

Beat. Are ye resolved? 
01. Is he asleep? 

3Ia7\ Is all quiet? 

LiLc. I mixed an opiate with his drink; he sleep.s 
soundly. 



Moral Culture. 199 



Beat. But ye are resolved? 

01. We are resolved. 

3Iar. As to tlic how this act 

Be warranted, it rests with you. 

Beat. Well, follow. 

[e.veuut. 

SCENE IIL 

\_Beatrice and Lucretla.'\ 

Luc. They are about it now. 

Beat. Nay, it is done. 

Lkc. I have not heard him groan. 

Beat. He will not groan. 

Luc. What sound is that ? 

Beat. List ! 'tis the tread of feet 

About his bed. 

Liic. ]My God ! 

If he be now a cold, stiff corpse — 

Beat. O fear not 

What may be done, but what is left undone ; " 
The act seals all. 

\_Euter Olimpio and il/arsio.] 

Is it accomplished ? 
on. He is dead! 

3Iar.' AVc strangled him, that there might be no 

[blood ; 
And then we threw his heavy corpse i' the garden 
Under the balcony ; 'twill seem it fell. 

Beat, (giving them a bag of coin) Here, 
Take this bag of gold, and hasten to your homes. 

[exeunt Ollmpio and Marzio. 

ACT v., SCENE IV. 

\_A hall of the 2^yison. Enter Camilla and Bernardo^ 

Camillo. The Pope is stern, not to be moved or bent. 
He looked as calm and keen as is the engine 
Which tortures and which kills, exempt itself 



200 The Educating Mother. 

From aught that it inflicts ; a marble form, 

A rite, a law, a custom, not a man. 

He frowned, as if to frown had been the trick 

Of his machinery, on the advocates 

Presenting the defences, Avhich he tore 

And threw behind, nuittering with hoarse, harsh voice, 

" Which among yc defended their old father 

Killed in his sleep ? " Then to another, " Thou 

Dost this in virtue of thy place ; 'tis well." 

He turned to me then looking dej)recation. 

And said these three words coldly, " They must die." 

Bernardo. And yet you left him not ? 

Cam. I urged him still, 

Pleading, as I could guess, the devilish wrong 
Which prompted your unnatural parent's death. 
And he replied, " You are my nejihew, — 
You come to ask their pardon. Stay a moment ; 
Here is their sentence ; never see me more, 
Till to the letter it be all fulfilled. 

Bern. O God, not so ! I did believe indeed 
That all you said was but sad preparation 
For hapjoy news. 

[Enter Lucretia and Beatrice, guarded.'] 

Beat. I hardly dare to fear 

That thou bring'st other news than a just pardon.. 

Cam. IMay God in Pleaven l)e less inexoralile 
To the Pope's prayers than he has been to mine ! 
Here is the sentence and the warrant. 

Beat, (wildly) Oh 

IMy God ! Can it l)e possible I have 
To die so suddenly ? so young to go 
Under the obscure, cold, rotting, wormy ground ? 
To be nailed down into a narrow place ? 
To see no more sweet sunshine? hear no more 
Blithe voice of living thing? muse not again 
Upon fomiliar thoughts? — sad, yet thus lost — 
Plow fearful ! to l)e nothing, or to lie — 
What ? Oh, where am I ? Let me not go mad ! 



Moral Culture. *" 201 



(Enter guards.') 

Bern. They come ! Let iiie 
Ki?>.s those warm li[).s before their crimson leaves — 
Are bliglited — white — cold. Say farewell, licfore 
Death chokes that geutle voice ! Oh, let me hear 
You speak ! 

Beat. Farewell, my tender l)rother. Think 
Of our sad fate with gentleness, as now ; 
And let mild, pitying thoughts lighten for thee 
Thy sorrow's load. Err not iu harsh despair, 
But tears and patience. Farewell, farewell ! 

Bern. I cannot say farewell ! 

Cam. O Lady Beatrice ! 

Beat. Give yourself no unnecessary pain, 
My dear Lord Cardinal. Here, mother, tie 
My girdle for me, and hind up tliis hair 
In any simple knot ; aye, that does well. 
And yours, I see, is coming down. How often 
Have we done this for one another! now 
We shall not do it any more. INIy lord, 
We are quite ready. Well, 'tis very well. 



NINETEENTH LETTER. 

READING — NARRATIONS, UISTORV, BIBLICAL HISTORY, FABLES, 
PLAYS, ROMANCES. 

But the mother should not only orally instruct, and 
let woi'k present models upon the resolution of the pupil, 
neither can she always do it; ivrititirj.^ nuist her often 
replace. Therefore she wants to form for lierself a sound 
judgment concerning tlieir selection and use. But I will 
restrict myself to tlie narrative kind (in the widest mean- 
ing); for with respect to writings in the didactical style 
a mistake is less to be feared. Narrations can impress 
deeply the juvenile mind. Neither do they preoccupy 
it for or against the person which is exhibited as a model. 



202 The Educating Mother. 

But a careful choice must be made among the most, 
especially regarding the books for children. Many of 
them foster religious and political superstition. 

What opinion must I give here upon biblical history, 
in general ? Without mentioning that most of its narra- 
tions are of small historical value, they are the expression 
of the religious ideas of centuries Avhich disappeared long 
ago, therefore often, discordant with the i:)rogress of 
modern culture. The Bible itself must be carefully kept 
far from the youth. I would not even trust my daughter 
being fifteen years old to read it. . Neither parents nor 
teachers consider the bad consequences which the biblical 
narrations exert at home and in the schools upon the 
youth. When the ministers of our Canton wanted to 
introduce them into the common schools, the teachers 
were permitted to vote on the question. But when they 
met in their general synod, all, with the exception of 
my husband, gave their vote in the affirmative, and, 
consequently, a text-book of those narratives was intro- 
duced into the schools. 

History can exert a very beneficial influence upon 
moral culture, if we are interested in it not for dates and 
names, but for the knowledge of noble characters, patri- 
otic exploits, enterprises conducive to the public good, 
etc., etc. For the rest, a good history for girls Iselongs 
3'ct to the desiderata of education. 

Fables serve better to teach prudence than morals. 
Rousseau i-ejects them for the use of children, liecause 
they are mostly Avritteu for adults. To the best fabulists 
belong Lafontaine, Florian, Lessing, Pfeffel, and Gellert. 

Concerning plays, many of them shape for a genteel 
behavior, and even for morality. Without danger can 



Moral Culture. 203 



be recomraended to the riper youth, Schiller, Goethe, 
Lessing, and especially the incomparable Shakespeare. 
But in the days of the latter, single passages remind us 
of the somewhat rude taste of his century. 

The last place among the means to advance morality 
occupies justly the large family of romances, for most of 
them are insipid, excite the imagination of the young 
reader (this is also partly the case with plays), and re- 
move him into a fairy-land, which easily disgusts him Avith 
real life. Novel reading is truly poisonous to young 
minds. What Villaume says, in some passage, with re- 
spect to the body — " I should like better to see blisters 
burn my child, than to tickle it" — that I should like to 
say of the frequent novel reading ; this is moral tickling 
of the mind. But when will youth sutler to be forbidden 
this favorite article of their amusement ? Therefore only 
take care of a good choice, and that not too much time 
be squandered by such triflings. Among the best ro- 
mances I number the historic novels of Walter Scott, 
the " Vicar of Wakefield," by Goldsmith, the romances of 
George Eliot, of Susan Wixon, of Elmina Slenker ; the 
pictures of imagination by Wieland, e. g., " Oberon ; " 
the ingenious novels of H. Zschokke, Rousseau's la nouvelle 
' Heloise," "Don Quixote" of Cervantes, and the "Ara- 
bian Thousand and One Nights." 



ILLUSTRATION. 

WHAT I LIKED TO READ. 

When eleven years old, I was tutored by a good old 
lady, of a very honest character, who took care of my 
welfare like a mother, but was, at the same time, very 
bigoted, and especially hated the Protestant religion. I 



204 The Educating Mother. 



was longing to read Campe's "Roljinson Crusoe," writ- 
ten for children, and in vogue among youth at that 
time (1815), but, unfortunately, the author of tlie ])ook 
Avas a Protestant, and my mentor, therefore, would never 
have permitted me to read it. I had no other chance 
to satisfy my craving but outside of the lodging. There 
I stood, in the nook of a window, reading in a hurry, and 
always fearing to be surprised and detected by the lady. 
When some years older, I was a pupil in a public sem- 
inary already infected with the propensity t<j rearl Prot- 
estant literature. But the superintendent of the insti- 
tute, being a strict Catholic, did not allow the jiupiLs to 
meddle with it. He once surprised me reading 
Gellert's " Moral Lectures." He seized the book and, 
in spite of my humble remonstrances, burned it. In 
the vacation we were permitted to go home and live 
with our parents. 

Among my schoolmates there were, also, children of 
Protestants, Jews, and Greeks. We did iiot care for 
religious differences, " thoued " each other, and conversed 
together on familiar terms. One of them, the son of a 
rich Jewish banker, lent me, then, for the vacation-time, 
the best German classics. Among the borrowed books 
was also Lessing's " Nathan the Wise." The poem made 
an inexpressible imj)ression on my mind. I read it over 
again and again, and the high principles of toleration, 
and the hate of superstition, were impressed upon it Avith 
indelil)le characters. Again, some years older, I got ac- 
quainted with Schiller's dramas. At day-time I must go 
to the college, but in the night, when my fellow-students 
were asleep, and I was not guarded by my overseers, 
I read and devoured his great works : " Tlie Robbers," 



Moral Cultiirk. 205 



the " Cons[)irac'y of Fiesko," " Calnik and Love," " Don 
Carlos," and " Wilhelm Tell." JNIidnight found me some- 
times perusing the great poet, " Nitimur in, vetitum cup- 
hnisque vegata." (We are bent upon forbidden objects, 
and desire that which is denied.) If I hate fanaticism, 
superstition, and tyranny ; if I profess liberal religious 
and political principles, I am indebted for this lient of 
my character to reading in my youth. 



TWENTIETH LETTER. 

CONSEQUENCES OF ACTIONS. 

Besides instruction and examples, the consequences of 
action'^ not seldom direct our resolutions. The conse- 
quences of oiu* actions are in part necessary, in part ac- 
cidental ones. The latter are partly natural, partly ar- 
•bitrary. I concede that the moral merit of an action 
loses something of its In-ightness by respect to its conse- 
quences, still, if, also, pure motives of reason are used, 
the com])ination of tlie former with these never is to be 
blamed ; least of all in the years of education where we 
have not yet to deal with morally strong men ; rather 
what could hinder our employing those consequences 
alone as motives, as long as the pupil is not yet tit for 
pure morality. Our child ought not to act by reason of 
the conseCjUences, l)ut reference to them will at least pre- 
pare it for the mere sense of virtue. That is especially 
true ^vith regard to the necessary consequences. As 
necessary consequences of good actions pass satisfac- 
tion of the conscience, increasing accomplishment in 
virtue, approbation of honest men, in particular of the 
parents. 

The accidental consequences of our actions are of less 



206 The Educating Mother. 

worth in eclucatiou; watchfulness is necessary in their use, 
in order not to train hypocrites and egotists instead of 
moral beings. However, inculcate profoundly this sen- 
tence in your children's minds: " Every folly, every im- 
prudence, and, still more, every immoral action, is chastised 
by itself. Among the casual consequences, those which 
are min-e jwobable, nearer imminent, more efficacious, 
ought to he rendered more prominent. Glory and honor 
must not be i^ainted too alluring, in order not to awake 
the passion of ambition. Still less should sensual enjoy- 
ments be promised to children for every good action. The 
stomach of man, and virtue — how far apart are these 
two objects from each other ? 

With regard to the natural consequences, let them 
rather and oftener take place than the arbitrary ones. 
Consequently, let tlie industrious child earn recreation;* 
the sincei-e, confidence; the liar, distrust; the proud, 
shame. The insolent is punished by fasting, the refrac- 
tory by compulsion. The insatiable must have nothing 
at all ; let the saving manage his little proj^erty himself 
the quarrelsome be banished into solitude. Still, be- 
sides the natural consequences, sometimes, also, the arlii- 
trary ones must be employed. Of these I shall speak in 
my next letter. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE V'OUNG SPENDTHRIFT. 

Rev. W. was a very kind, beneficent gentleman. He 
was tutor of the children of a wealthy pati'ician family 
in Vienna, and member of a charitable society which sup- 
ported poor students. H. was one of them. Every 
week he had to write, at school, a Latin composition, 



]M()i:u- CuLTUKE. 2(^7 



and if there was no mistake in it, the abbe gave him a 
donar to encourage him in his studies, and a kiss on the 
forehead. This gratification helped the poor student to 
cover a part of the expenses of his board, and incited, 
also, his diligence and emulation. But one time he went, 
on a vacation, into a public garden, where he met a 
school-fellow, and tlie dollar just received from the abbo 
Avas freely spent for their amusement. By chance, the 
teacher of II. was at the same time in the garden, and 
Avitnessed the extravagance of the boy. The delinquent 
was examined ; he confessed his guilt, and got a sound 
thrashing. Tlie chastisement cured his j)rodigality for- 
ever ; in future he saved his dollars for useful expenses. 

PET MORGAN.* 

Some years ago I owned a horse with which I under- 
took to drive to a neighboring town, over the hills, in 
the Avinter. A spot of hidden ice suddenly ti-ipped her, 
and for a time it Avas impossible for lier to get up, but, by 
efforts that entirely exhausted me, I finally got her on 
foot again. 8he never forgot it. My approach to the 
stable Avas invariably Avelcomed by cordial neighs, and, 
that not sufficing, she would put her head affectionately 
on my shoulder, or under my arm. 

On <»ne occasion my pet, Morgan, called me, Avhile I 
Avas fifty rods from the barn, with loud and persistent 
calls, that T instantly understood to mean trouble. Go- 
ing hastily to the stable, 1 found the coavs ha.l broken 
doAvn a door, and Avere capable of doing mischief As 
soon as I approached, the horse ga\^e a satisfied Avhinny, 
folloAved by a long sigh of relief, and went to eating very 
quietly. 



'Globe-Democrat, St. Louis. 



208 The Editcatino Mother. 

T WENT Y -FIRST LETTER. 

CONCLUSION, RECOMPENSES AND PTTNISHMENTS. 

The arbitrary consequences of actions are called rec- 
ompenses and punishments. Both lay claim either to tlie 
sense of honor, or to the sensitive impulse, and the edu- 
cation can be so niucli less without them the less the child 
is yet capable of pure morality. Witli respect to rec- 
ompenses, permit and use them but rarely, but that whicli 
you pro mi t, grant it also religiously. Let your approba- 
tion be to the child also a recompense, even the sweet- 
est of all. Then, even small matters will be precious 
to it. Nay, let that which the palate delights in 
l)e also an object of your recompenses for the little ones, 
and be not afraid to support herein their sensuality. 

Concerning the distribution of recompenses, I cannot 
recommend enough your impartiality. The pets and 
darlings who are glutted with proofs of tenderness are 
seldom grateful for them to their parents in later years. 

Now, for the punishments. They, particularly the 
corporal punishments, occur l)y far too often in the de- 
partment (jf education. Salzmann complains, rightfully, 
of the sad fate of a class of men who, in the midst of 
civilized Europe, are sighing under the yoke of slavery, 
and he paints affectingl)'^ the rage of their tyrants. 
You will hardly guess that speaking of slaves and tyrants, 
he means the children and their ])arents. J. P. liichter, 
wondering, exclaims, in "Levana: " " How is theinditter- 
ence to be explained with which the State is looking at 
slow intanticide, at the criminal tribunals of parents and 
teachers ? The striking hands of the parents and teach- 
ers are yet in the fever of the grown-up men stretched 
out after the raving man." In fact, how many parents 



MoKAL Culture. 201) 

think their children to be a kind of property but one 
degvee higher tlmn their domestic animals, and which 
must submit to every arbitraiy coercion ! But does 
this despotism agree witli the equality of rights which 
naturally takes place between parents and children ? Do 
such parents behave with love ? And how sad are the 
results caused by tormenting the children ! Their love 
and confidence are forever lost ; malice, defiance, servile 
tendency take their place ; their mind is, and remains, often, 
subdued, incapal)le to recover courage, and unbent for 
any gallant enterprise of life. Oh, parents, I would ex- 
claim, who confers upon you the right to abuse the pledges 
of your love? Is not your rage to inflict chastisements 
sometimes even in fault that your children get crippled, 
stunted, and perish '( 

Now what has a loving, gentle mother to do with re- 
gard to punishment? Tn the first place, let us exactly 
distinguish between naturally bad consequences, compul- 
sion, and punishment. We should let the first ones always 
take place, as you know already by my last letter. 

Compulsion (in the utmost case also corporal (me) seems 
to me applicable, if the pupil will injure the rights of 
others, or act against his own welfare, or not fulfill a 
duty, and neither admonitions nor menaces avail. But 
it most commonly takes place if the moment urges a 
deed or its omission. 

Punishments proper, purposely inflicted by the educa- 
tor as evil consequences of bad conduct, admit very 
different kinds and degrees, of which corporal chastise- 
ment is, in general, the severest. Two questions must 
here principally occupy our consideration : When and lioiv 
are punishments to be inflicted? To the first question 



210 The Educating Mother. 

I reply': If the pupil has i-eally and deliberately com- 
mitted a fault, especially if it is to be feared that it will 
])e repeated, then you may punish. Besides this, pun- 
ishment seems to be very seldom admissible. This prin- 
ciple is frequently transgressed. Many a mother pun- 
ishes her children because they do not like rest, or refuse 
her an accommodation, or break something of small 
value, or even commit a fault hj ignorance. A loving 
mother will sometimes pardon even imjDortant trespasses, 
if they are, e. g., consequences of the age, and in time 
disappear of their own accord. I proceed to the second 
question : In ivhich way must we punish f 

1. The pupil must recognize his fault, and understand 
the justice of the punishment before Ave punish. Let, 
therefore, the culprit recollect himself, represent to him 
his wrong, then apply the evil. The remark of J. P. 
Richter is more than witty, it contains truth. He says : 
"Parents and teachers would often punish more justly, if, 
after every transgression of a child, they would count at 
least twenty-four, or number their buttons or fingers." 
" Only with very young children," the same continues, 
" the punishment should be fastened into the fault, as it 
were, as the naturally necessary effect into the cause." 

2. Not the importance of the damage, but the degree of 
the malevolence and the design of reform ought to deter- 
mine the measure of the correction. To a child who 
loves his mother, even small ])unishments are sensilile. 

3. If you have convinced yourself that a chastisement 
is absolutely necessary, then, as a rule, neither struggling, 
nor beseeching, nor intercession of otlier persons, ought to 
prevent you from executing the judgment. Punishments 
ought to pain ! " Not great, but inevitable corrections are 



Moral Culture. 211 



mighty and almighty," says the same author. I kuow well 
that, with regard to this precept, I expect you to do some- 
thing whicli to you and to our sex, generally, is almost im- 
possible. We mothers would fain deduct a pait from the 
determined punishment, or remit it entirely; a weakness 
which cannot l)e pardoned, if it grows int(i a custom. 
We ought not even to endure others interfering with our 
office of chastisement. 

4. Let me speak of the way to treat the pupil after he 
is punished. Observe then the impression which the 
correction exerts in the culprit, and treat him further 
according to it. E. g., if his fault was disobedience, com- 
mand now diligently, and the whole concern will soon 
succeed again smoothly. Let the child beg pardon only 
seldom. Permit me to let speak once more that cele- 
1)rated voucher in my place. J. P. Richter gives us moth- 
ers, regarding the last-mentioned point, the following 
important hint : " In the hour after the punishment you 
may speak much, if the mildest voice is borrowed for it, 
and soften the pains of the child by showing your sym- 
pathy with him. But poisonous is every after-winter of 
after-wrath. Mothers easily fall into this after-punish- 
ment; for women and authors do not know when to 
cease." 

So much regarding j^unishments in general ! With 
respect to corporal punishment, I could approve it almost 
only for mischievous violation of right, and for rough 
disobedience; and let it be at the most executed with the 
rod: a case which, if the education is good, hardly can 
occur. Many pedagogues, e. (/., the Englishman Locke, 
reject corporal punishments entirely. 

As for the rest, more important than all these direc- 



212 The Educating Mother. 



tions is the precept : Mothers, educate }Muir cliiklren in 
snch a manner that you never come in the case to be 
obhged to punisli them ; a precejit which supposes that 
we educate our children in general, conscientiously, but 
especially that we always carefully superintend them, 
vigorously check the beginning of immorality, and let 
the natural consequences of bad actions take place. But 
in any case — I repeat it — punishments must seldom be 
inflicted. 

I conclude finally my rather long epistle treating of 
the chapter of punishments, lest you think it to be a ser- 
mon punishing us for the sins which we commit ourselves 
concerning this chapter. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

I. THE rUSOBEDIENT CHRISTINA. 

Christina asked her mother to buy a canary bird for her. 
Her -mother said, "You shall have one, if you will always 
be gentle, diligent and obedient." Christina promised 
it. One day when she came home from school, her 
mother said to her : " I am going out now for a little 
while. Here upon the table is a little, new box. Do not 
open it by any means. Do not touch it either. If you 
obey me, I Avill give you .great joy as soon as I shall 
return." When the mother was scarcely gone, the 
pert girl had the little box already in her hand. "It is 
so light," said she, " and there are many little holes 
in the cover; I wonder what can be in it." She tliought 
that the mother did not see her, and opened the 
little box — and see, in a trice a wondrously pretty little 
yellow canary bird skipped out, and flew about in the 
room. Christina would catch the merrily twittering 



MoRAT> Culture. . 213 

little bird quickly, and shut it uj) agaiu, lest the mother 
observe it. As she, l)reuthle.^s and with glowing cheeks, 
chased the nimble bird in vain about the room, the 
mother entered and said: " You pert, disobedient girl! 
It was my intention to make you a present of the nice 
little bird, still I would lirst try you to see if you deserved 
it. But now I shall forthwith return it to the bird-seller.' 

II. PUNISH YOUR CHILDREN, IF THEY TELL THE TRUTH, IN 
ORDER TO MAKE TUEM LIARS. 

On one occasion Fred wanted to catch a fly, and when 
he lifted up his hand, he struck at his father's glass 
2:)itcher so that it fell to the floor, and broke into many 
2)ieces. The po(;r boy Avas almost frightened to death. 
Meanwhile, he thought it might be the best way to go to 
his father, and confess to him what he had done. lie 
sought him wofully, and finally found him in the garden. 
"Alas, alas, father, be not angry with me. I wanted to 
catch a fly, and touched the pitcher, and" — "What, the 
glass pitcher? Did you break it?" "Yes, I broke it, 
dear father, but, indeed, I have not done it on purpose." 
" Why, you wicked boy ! stay, I will make you touch the 
pitcher so that you will remember it." He cut a rod 
from a willow, and struck — "Alas! my arm, my arm! 
alas ! stop f^ither, I Avill not do it any more in my life ! " 
" There, mind it, I will make you break the pitcher ! " 
"Alas ! my arm, my arm ! " 

At amother time Fred was turning over the leaves of 
a picture-book. Before he was aware of it, the book 
glided off; he Avould catch it — seized a leaf, and, whifl*, 
the leaf went in twain. Who was more alarmed than 
Fred? He shut the book, and j^ut it again in the 
place from which he had taken it. After some days the 



214 The Educating Mother. 

fother wanted to look for something in the liook, and 
found the torn leaf. He asked Fred immediately if he 
di(i not know who tore the leaf Fred confessed it, but 
at the same time explained how it had chanced, and be- 
sought the father not to strike him on that account. 
But all this availed nothing ; Fred got his IjIows again. 
As he saw that his father would not, 1:)y any means, 
hear the truth, he began by degrees to leave off from 
it. If he afterwards spoiled something, he never ac- 
knowledged it. Sometimes he denied it entirely, some- 
times he put the l:)lame on another. As he was very 
careless, he broke glasses at one time, at another, cups ; 
but he always knew how to extricate himself so cleverly 
that it was not laid to his charge. Sometimes he said 
that the wind had pushed open the windows, and cast 
down the glasses ; sometimes that the cat had leaped on 
the table and broke the cups. In this manner Fred 
always came off well. If he told lies, all his hasty 
lilunders passed unresented. Did he speak the truth, he 
got a whipping. Was he, then, to be blamed if he con- 
timied to tell lies ? 



TWENTY-SECOND LETTER. 

IGNORANCE — JUVENILE PLAYS. 

In my sixteenth letter I introduced, among the gen- 
eral ways of moral culture, ignorance and juvenile plays. 
There were pedagogues who said that the substance of 
education consists in the mere prevention of immorality. 
Our pupils ought certainly to avoid that which is bad; 
but they must do more ; they ought also to do what is 
good. Meanwhile much is already gained, if only the 
first is obtained. The best defense against immorality is 



Moral Culture, 215 



ignorance of immoral objects ; for we do not desire things 
wliicli ^ve do not know. Therefore are all means which 
forward moral ignorance so far also ways of education ; 
tliis is particularly true as far as it concerns the strict 
superiniendency of the educator, and the remotencm of 
had examples and of pernicious subjects of reading. A 
close oversight of the child is priucii^ally to be recom- 
mended to the mother, whose vocation makes it a matter 
of course that she is oftener than the father near the 
children. Immoral examples cause the greatest mischief 
among children. Niemeyer says, therefore, " If it were 
possible to prevent intercourse with wicked people, chil- 
dren would stay much longer uncorrupted, and morality 
would gain a strength which could not be easily annihi- 
lated by fiiture bad impressions." I remind you of that 
which, concerning examples, and also reading, I have 
written you already in my sixteenth and seventeenth 
letters, and recommend you again to always have an 
attentive eye as well upon the reading matter of your 
children, as upon their commerce with others, especially 
w'ith young friends. Meantime, with the mere ignorance 
of the pupil the whole concern is by far not yet done. 
Man generates both morality and vice from himself He 
who remains too long ignorant in regard to certain sub- 
jects, can atone for his ignorance with the loss of his inno- 
cence, and he who never was in danger of falling is the 
first to fall when in danger. For this obseirvation the 
interesting novel of Zschokke, " Auntie Rosemary, or All 
Upside Down," supjilies a proof 

That also ^:)Za?/s can contribute for the culture of 
mind, a morose moralist would not grant, of course ; but 
you, cheerful friend, who are at the same time a great 



216 The Educating Mother. 

friend of children, understand it well, also without a 
lengthy demonstration. Look only at the children Avho 
for a time amuse themselves innocently, how they return 
with new strength to their little occupations. The child 
who always is sitting gloomy and morose in a corner, will 
never attain a high grade of morality. J. P. Richter 
says, therefore, concerning schools of play : " If one of 
both, play-school, or school of instruction, first must fall, 
the first ought to keep its ground," and with respect to 
dance and song, as species of playing, the same says: 
" Dancing cannot begin too soon. Is there a finer object 
than a merrily singing child?" Plays effect serenity, 
and this one is (according to the same author) "the 
ground of virtue." Only do not tolerate playing at 
cards. Plays in the free air are preferable to those in 
the house, especially to the sedentary ones. 



ILLUSTRATION. 

AUNTIE KOSEMAUY.* 

Miss Susan M. lived with her aunt, Mrs. Rosemary, 
who was her guardian and educator. When eighteen 
years old she was invited to a wedding party. The 
aunt accompanied her, giving her full directions how to 
behave thereby, especially during dancing she should be 
very cautious, and attach no credit to the flatteries of 
the dancers. The whole night passed in dancing ; Susie 
overheated herself; they gave her punch, then she felt 
unwell. A dancer led her into a remote, solitary room, 
unlaced her, etc. . . , Meanwhile a tempest was 
storming in the sky, with thunder and lightning. No- 
body missed the couple; not till after an hour they re- 

* From Zschokkc's novels. 



Moral Culture. 217 

turjied. After a few months the girl began to be sickly; 
(jualms and toothache made theii' appearance. Tlie 
aunt guessed this and that, what might be the cause of 
them; finally the })hysician was consulted; he declared, 
" Miss Susan is going with child." The aunt examined 
her : " Have you no lover ? " " No." " No intimate in- 
tercourse with men?" "No." " Consequently you have 
at the nuptials disordered yourself by dancing." "I 
presume so. I have told you already that I turned 
giddy, that I was obliged to go aside. One of the gen- 
tlemen with whom I danced accompanied me iiito the 
next room." And she explained mysteriously and with 
sparing words what pains the young man took for her. 
Aunt Rosemary went on inquiring ; suddenly she claspefl 
her hands, exclaiming, " Wretched child ! So was my 
warning in vain." " Oh, auntie, compose yourself, the 
misfortune is certainly not so great!" "Oh, unfortunate 
girl, not great ! " She spoke of disgrace, of driving lier 
away, and yet she could not conceal to herself that she 
was herself in faidt for the whole misfortune, having let 
Susie grow up in blind ignorance. The poor child was 
seduced without knowino; her seducer. 



T WENT Y- THIRD LETTER. 

THERAPEUTICS OF MORAL FAILINGS — THE VICE OF ONANISM. 

After having pointed out to you tlie principal ways of 
cultivating the mind, in general, I think it adapted to 
your purpose to speak also of the general method to cure 
moral failings. Both the passions and the faults of the 
mind in general (thougli the period of edueation is usu- 
ally still free from the former) are accordingly cured by 
the followiui^ common rules: — 



218 The Educating Mother. 

First, we must l^e sure of the existence of a failing. 
Sometimes such an one seems to be what is only a pecul- 
iar quality of nature, c. g., some mothers punish faults 
against the etiquette like immoral actions ! Diligent ob- 
servation of the pupil is recommended, in order to dis- 
cover the disease when it is still in the germ. If the 
defect is evident, ask yourself if it is necessary to heal it. 
It disappears now and then in later time by itself, or is 
connected with other good qualities of the full-grown 
man, e. y., inconsiderate frankness, joined to noble-hearted 
veracity. 

If you agree with yourself that a cure ought to be 
undertaken, set immediately to work. If somewhere 
gross immorality in children appears, to be sure the first 
germ has iDeen neglected. Our next most important 
task is to discover the source of the evil. In this regard 
w6 must frst make sure of the respect and love of the 
pupil ; all that runs counter it, e. g., passionate fervor, 
must be avoided. We must engage his reflection, hold 
forth rational motives to him, and in this manner lead 
him to the acknowledgment of his error. The bad con- 
sequences of his fault must be, especially, I'endered 
j)rominent in order to drive the sting of repentance into 
his mind. But do not deprive the fallen cliild of his 
self-confidence ; on the contrary, exalt his sunken courage 
by hope. Finally, afford him the ways and means of his 
reform. This will succeed but slowly, principally if 
he be a habitual sinner ; which mother will, then, be 
wanting patience and encouragement? Gradual direc- 
tion is then necessary, e. g., the miser is fii'st induced to 
enter into a lucrative speculation, then to satisfy his 
wants, enjoy little comforts, finally to deal charitable gifts 
to the poor. 



Moral CrLTURE. 219 



The educator must sometimes, in sjiite of his most hon- 
est efforts, find tlmt the child does not easily give up the 
had sentiinent. In this situation he must enforce at least 
the exterior good behavior by menaces and punishments, 
and prevent the immoral action. 

The persons surrounding the pupil are not permitted 
to disturb the progress of the healing ; on the contrary, 
they ought to promote and facilitate it. 

Still more important than to heal defects of mind let 
it be your care to prevent their origin. Blessed the 
mother wlio is able to preserve the innocence of her 
pledges of love from the cradle to the grave ! 

I cannot conclude my letter without directing yet your 
attention to a secret vice of the youth by which children, 
especially older ones, sometimes are polluted; I mean 
the vice of self-pollution (masturbation). It is also 
called OnanUm, from Oiian, who committed it, according 
to the Bible. The holy Book rej^orts of him : " And 
()nan kne\v that the seed should not be his, and it came 
to pass, Avhen he went in unto his brother's wife, that he 
spilled it on the ground, lest that he should give seed to 
his brother." Gen. 38 : 9.* Dear friend, this is a fearful 
fault, in my opinion (though the celebrated Doctor and 
Professor Bockh calls it nothing but a juvenile rudeness), 
for it enfeebles the body, squandering the sap which 
nature wants to build up the frame of the young genera- 
tion. At the same time it unnerves the mind, blunts, 
especially, the intellect and memory, causes apathy 
to study, and sometimes destroys the generative power. 
It is almost impossible to break it off when grown to a 

Tissot, " Onanism;" Lallemand, "Spermatorrhoea;" and Hufeland, "Art 
of Prolonging Life." 



220 The Educating Mother. 

strong haliit. A friend of mine told nie that she knew a 
hoy two years old ^vho was accustomed to this vice. He 
practiced it still a fe\v hours before he died. Girls in- 
dulging it suffer in later time from gonorrhcea. 

Mothers ought to bo very careful to know Avith Avhat 
boys their sons have intercourse. Even at school chil- 
dren get cognizance and learn the practice of the vice. 
Its presence is betrayed by spots in the body linen of the 
sinner, by dark circles around the eyes, and a j^ale, leaden- 
colored face. He avoids the intercourse with females, 
and likes solitude. His eyes do not meet those of anpther 
with confidence, they are turned away hastily, and after 
Avandering about, are at length directed to the ground. 
" There is good reason to suspect this abuse also in a 
child who remains motionless in a corner, Avhilst his com- 
panions enjoy their noisy sports."* Other symptoms of 
the evil, when advanced to the higher stages, are : Loss 
of sleep, disorder of digestion, want of appetite, attacks of 
vertigo, noise in the ears, nocturnal pollutions, j^i'oi^ensity 
to suicide, etc., etc. This unfortunate i:)assion produces 
exactly the same effects in the female sex at all ages. 

In order to secure a boy against the vice, j^arents must 
watch his company, and the nursery-maid, too, not suffer 
him to stay long time in the water-closet, to keep his hand ■ 
in the breeches pocket, to read novels, to take stimulating 
drinks, t(j sleep longer that it is necessary for his age, to 
tarry in the bed when awake, to stay idle. He must 
be occupied in a useful way, and have daily bodily exer- 
cise (but ncj riding on horseback). In the higher stages 
of the evil the help of tlie physician is necessaiy. I saw 

'Dr. Lalleinand. 



Moral Culture. ^ 221 

mothei'fj who tickleil tlie genitalis of their babies ! A 
shameful play ! 

Moreover, if the son is infected wifh the vice, the par- 
ents should represent to him that lie debilitates every 
faculty (if his mind, especially his intellect and memory, 
and destroys his physical strength and generative power. 
They must encourage him to keep company with honest 
young ladies. Sometimes a young sinner is cured by 
genuine love, when he is induced to woo an honest girl. 



ILLUSTRATIOX. 

THE FASniONABLE YOUNd LADY. 

The mother of Miss Caroline Herbert wanted to edu- 
cate her daughter for the elegant world. She intro- 
duced her, therefore, into refined companies to learn there 
fashionable manners. Caroline appeared first with a 
modest mien, and in a plain dress. The young damsels of 
fashion put their heads together, and jeered ; the young 
gentlemen, kissing the iiands of all the stylish girls, 
flattered them, but looked with coiitem[)t upon (-aroline. 
She was vexed by such a slight, and asked her mother 
to permit her to have her hair curled also, to wear laces, 
ribbons, and other fineries, like the other girls. The ten- 
der mother ^villiugly consented, and took care to procure 
all that her daughter demanded. • The next tims . Miss 
Caroline appeai-ed in a different shape. Her head-dress 
had grown an inch higher, a silk dress waved around her 
hips, many little things which the milliners of Paris have 
invented (and I do not know how to naipe because I 
must confess that I never learned to appreciate them) 
glittered around her. Now she stepj)ed to the mirror. 
How she was charmed! Never had she felt womanly 



222 - The Educating Mother. 

dignity more than now. Persuaded of her worthiness, 
she entered a company and was noticed. The hidies 
praised her for the change she had made, and found it, ex- 
cept in some trifles, very good. The young men directed 
their eyes upon hei-, kissed lier hand, ai^proved her taste 
in selecting her attire. Ay, she was so happy that 
Doctor W., who showed her home, called her, when he 
took leave, his goddess. Mr. B., counselor of the 
finances, was so happy to get possession of this jewel which 
a score of young gentlemen had courted. During seven 
days his jnarriage was so blessed that it could have been 
praised as a model of successful matrimony, if his caprices 
had permitted it. But he demanded that his wife should 
conform to his taste, and limit her activity to the improve- 
ment of the household. Caroline thought : " What a 
pedantic, unfair demand is this ! My husband, my house 
ought to be the only sphere to whicli I confine myself ! 
How vulgar would this be ! It is tlio fashionable world 
to the judgment of which I will conform myself." She 
did not choose her apparel, company, and Avay of living- 
according to the will of her husband, but after the taste 
of her worshipers. She despised the love of her hus- 
band, she jeopardized the health of her children, she sac- 
rificed her own health and tranquillity of mind ; she left 
the greater part of her property to the creditors, — and 
all that in order tt) please the fashionable society ! 

About this time her mother died. The death of the 
old lady was a fortune for her, for she was the first cause 
of the extravagant life and vanity of her daughter. Mrs. 
B. was now poor, and her husband lost his appointment 
in the city. They were obliged to retire into the country. 
Here Mr. B. mwat, with the wreck of his wealth, carry on 



Moral Culture. 223 



another business in order to be able to support his wife 
und chihh'en. Misfortune awoke the slumbering glimpses 
of virtue in his wife. She had here no opportunity to 
show her fashionable arts. Now she took care of her 
children, and managed her household herself Her hus- 
band consoled and encouraged her. He represented to 
her that a woman who adorns her form with the finest 
apparel, but is ignorant, selfish, quarrelsome, eager for 
j)leasure, cannot be happy. " Tell me," he said to her, 
" suppose that such a woman be a princess, would you 
not despise her in your heart ? Do you not like better 
your natural complexion than the artificial color of the 
rouge f If we ourselves are good and sensible, if we 
have energy, and noble minds, then all the rest falls to 
our shai'e ; good health makes us beautiful, people acc(n*d 
us their respect and love, and fortune, also, will snnle 
again upon us." She yielded to the advice of her hus- 
band, attended to the education of her children, and to 
the improvement of her economy, and enjoyed the serene 
eveniny- of her life. 



SECOND SECTION.—CULTIVATiON OF SOME SINGLE 
FEATURES OF CHARACTER. 



TWENTY-FOURTH LETTER. 

CHEERFULNESS OV MIND — TIIOVOHTLESSNfiS.S. 

My Young Friend : Possibly you will find it difficult 
to apply the discussed principles of moral culture to the 
nnnds of your children. You want, still, particular in- 
formation for single cases. Now I will communicate to 
you the application of the general ])rinciples to the more 
prominent sides of the juvenile mind, considering the re- 



224 The Educating Mothee. 



lations of the pupil, first towards himself, then towaixls 
others, principally towards parents and tutors, and towards 
his country. The love of sex, too, must here be spoken 
of Rules regarding the choice of a vocation will con- 
clude the whole. In order to complete my instruction, 
I will also join remedies for single defects of character. 
May it never happen that you must make use of them. 

There were times when earth was called a vale of 
tears. Then the fate of youth was not enviable. Those 
times have passed, in part, away. A milder century has 
dawned, in which before unknown enjoyments to the 
young generation also are permitted and imparted. 
Grant your children a cheerful and serene mind. Take 
care of the good health of their body ; a sickly child is 
not susceptible of joy. Far be all coercion to sit still ; 
congratulate yourself if your children are lively. Phleg- 
matic recluses may once be good-natured men, but you 
cannot expect grand performances of them. Far away be a 
surly behavior towards children ; far the intercourse with 
capricious persons ; far the multitude of warnings, of 
prohibitions, of menaces and punishments ; far be, finaU^y, 
discontent, complaints of fate and men, -despairing lam- 
entations in hapless situation. Wieland'!^ calls on all 
hapless ones : " Nobody shall despair to Avhom, in the 
most obscure night, the last stars of hope disai)pear." A 
clieerful youth gives way to the gladdest expectations of 
our country. Plays awake and nourish cheerfulness; 
this has already been considered.f 

Meantime, thoughtlessness nmst not be confounded 
with cheerfulness. Though the latter be no virtuous 



'VVieland "Oberoii," Canto the first, stanza 27, 
tS:e fifth and ninth letter. 



Moral Culture. 225 

quality, it is a source of virtue. But the formei* is ji I'uult 
by itself. Thoughtlessness renders one inattentive, in- 
considerate, forgetful, disorderly, distracted, impatient, 
fickle in study and working, slovenly in dressing, regard- 
less of possession, ill-behaved in company. Thoughtless- 
ness is checked by rapid interference with its doings. 
Admonitions alone, and even punishments now and then 
inflicted, avail not ; you must insist upon changing what 
is to be changed, immediately. He who forgot some- 
thing must forthwith set out again ; who mislaid sohjc- 
thing has to search till he finds it again ; who did a work 
superficially must not l»c scolded, but obliged to do it over 
again from the beginning, even if he must forego thereby 
the most charming pleasure. In this manner the light- 
minded will recollect and reform himself. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

A PRECIOUS COUPLE OF PARENTS. 

A couple of parents kept their heads always so full of 
business and enterprises, that they thought every moment 
lost in which they must ccmverse with their children. 
The husband Avas figuring, and the wife was always busy 
with her finery. The suckling stretched out his little 
Iiand to chuck the face of the father; he pushed it 
frigidly l)ack. Little Nicolas jumped to him with his 
primer, saying, " Look, papa, the jolly little monkey lias 
an apple in his paw." " Let me alone," was answered. 
He ran to the mother, and was repulsed. 

Now Nick went with his book to the servant-girl, and 

she knew how to use him better. She rejoiced witli him 

in the little monkey, showed him the wolf and the little 

hare, told him how tlio wolf eats the sheep, and how 
15 



226 The EDUcATrNa Mothek. 



roasted hares relish. For that !<he became lii.s dear 
Mary, who learned all his secrets, and took part in all 
his pleasures. Pie would not care if his father and 
mother went for months on a journey; but if the servant- 
girl was not at home, you should have heard his crying. 

LITTLE GCTSTAVUS. 

A certain man had the joy to become yet a father in 
his fiftieth year. On account of his age he. was grave 
and serious in his conduct, and demanded that his lit- 
tle Gustavus should behave in the same manner. But 
1*6 did not. As the child v/as master (jf his feet, he felt 
his strength and gaiety, skipped, joked, and looked 
for playmates to annise himself with them. This caused 
the father nuich vexation. He took Gustavus some- 
times along with him when he took a walk in the country. 
If the boy ran after the butterflies, or jumped into the 
meadow in order to look for flowers, the irritated father 
cried : " Where are you roving ? Will you come here 
immediately? Shame, you rude rustic!. See how I am 
walking; can you not do the same?" He burnt the 
nine-pins which Gustavus had I'eceived from his cousin- 
as a present, and cut the ball he once brought home to 
pieces, saying that he could make a better use of the 
time which he was wasting in playing with it, if he 
learned a chapter from the catechism. If the boy stayed 
with him in his room, he must sit still for hours, without 
being allowed to stir from his place. This man rendered 
himself^ by such treatment, so odious to his son that he 
liked better to stay with the rude:;t fellows than with his 
father. 

When the father died the boy shed no tear of mourn- 
ing. " Good," he was thinking, " that I am rid of this 



Moral Culture. 227 



disgusting superintendence. At least, I ciin now live as 
I please. 

TWENTY-FIFTH LETTER. 

DILIGENCE, LAZINESS — SOME REMARKS ON TEACHERS AND 
PUBLIC! SCHOOLS. 

Concerning very young children, the virtue of dili- 
gence, of course, is out of the question ; still, they ought 
not to be idle. Steady occupation is the principal task 
of education. In idle hours, an apparatus for bail'.ling 
retail shops, traveling carriages, a collection of natural 
products, work in pasteboard, and horticulture are fit for 
older children ; plays for younger ones. But instruction 
plays are good for nothing ; for the jday is either a more 
trifle, or the child soon finds <nit the earnest which lurks 
behind the play, and dislikes it. 

Older children ought to have their (hiy's work, as do 
adults. Then allot them their task by littles ; watch its 
progi'ess, encourage, urge, compel the negligent, join 
praise to blame, and recompense to cha'^tisemeut. When 
the work is done, make a carefid and impartial exami- 
nation of it. Nothing produces more harm than setting 
children five or six years old to jierform a task, and 
not caring for the result. There ought to be fretjuent 
change of occupation ; now exertion of the mental, now 
of the i)hysical forces; now domestic work, now ])repar- 
ing for school ; now executing commissions in the house, 
now outside. Let there be no want of recreation at this 
age. Nor should we overtask the brain of older chil- 
dren with mental work. I have seen boys, in this way, 
stunted and' made sick. With regard to young girls, 
remember what I communicated you in my sixth letter. 



228 The Educating Mother. 



Wlien the period of tlie school yeai's commences, the 
teacher, for the most part, takes the charge of your child's 
occupation ; your concern is it then to aid honestly 
his efforts, l^y bearing, willingly, the expenses necessary 
for teaching the child; hy getting information of his 
progress and conduct through oral rejiorts, or through 
written ones, and by seeing to it that ike home tashs, his 
themes and lessons, are exactly \vritten and learned. 
Mothers are, in this respect, easily deceived, because 
often they are ignorant of the object of lessons. For 
that reason the father should have the control of the 
home study. That the teacher exerts a great influence 
ujDon the welfare of your children ; that, therefore, you 
should select him cautiously, if the clioice devolves upon 
you; that you should requite his efforts according to his 
merit, and, in general, use him as your substitute in re- 
gard to your children ; this I need hardly reinai-lc to my 
sensible friend. 

It will not be amiss to add a few words regarding the 
branches of study in our public schools. It is a matter 
of course that our children learn reading, writing, arith- 
metic, grammar, geography, an 1 history, but they ought 
to study still more. Yf)u know that in our elementary 
schools they learn, besides, the rudiments of natural 
history and natural philosophy. It is not so in every 
country, e. <7.,'in France, England, America, and most of 
the German States, the natural sciences in these schools 
are missing. Still, what a pity it is to dismiss a child 
into the stern reality of busy life, if it does not know the 
laws of nature, of life, health, and the most common 
objects of the universe. 

A doctrine of morals, teaching human duties and 



MoRAi. Culture. 229 



rights, should be another branch of public education. 
It ought to bo founded on the nature of human mind. 
It is not sufficient to cultivate the intellects (jf the chil- 
dren ; they want, also, moml education. Justice and 
honesty of the Citizens arc the foundations of the States. 

It is another question if religion., too, nuist be taught 
in public schools. I suppose not; for in every State 
there are different Christian sects, besides Jews, free 
religionists, dissenters, and free-thinkers. They, being 
tax-payers for the support of the public schools, have 
also the right to teach their respective views in the public 
schools. Which of these religions ought, then, to be 
taught ? Either all or none. Better none, as it is the 
case in the United States, where religion is excluded 
from the conmion schools, because the pcoi)le living 
tliere confess many different religions; many, also, none 
at all. 

With respect to private studies, periodical examina- 
tions sliould take place. For the instruction of grown- 
up daughters it is sometimes atlvisable that the mother 
be present herself during the lessons. The governess of 
a young countess told me tliat the singing-master of her 
pupil tried to seduce her during his lessons, though he 
was married, and the father of nine children. 

As the individuality of the child is modified, incite, if 
he Avill yield to laziness, his sense of honor, or the impulse 
to gain property, or the sense of the beautiful and ele- 
gant. The lazy must get up from his couch of rest at 
any effort. Resolution and decision in comm^iuding must 
be used. Where it can, let the natural evil consequences 
follow, and arbitrary ones (inforce their effect. But here, 
also, moderation must be ol^served. The fasting cure, 



2o0 The EuncATTNa Mother. 

often applied in accordance with the proverb, " He who 
does not work must also not eat either," has not my 
assent. I would advise it but rarely, and never should 
the health of the child be injured by it. Deal out to the 
lazy his work with exactness, and control its progress 
most strictly; grant him the Avhole enjoyment of his 
small gain. This and similar expedients will induce him 
to become diligent. 

For laziness in study corporal punishment ought to be 
avoided. The scholar is not always in fault if he does 
not make any progress in sciences, and almost never he 
is alone; sometimes it is the fault of the teacher, some- 
times a want of talent, or preparatory instruction, etc., 
etc. It is seldom that parents can l^oast of having, like 
the old painter Mengs, shaped their children for artists 
and scholars hj dint of the dog-whip. Therefore soften 
the harshness of the father where it occurs, for the charge 
of mildness and reconciliation belongs to us. 

Voluptuousness is still more pernicious to earnest study 
than is fear ; where it rules, enervation of mind follows ; 
no fruits of culture are to be expected ; so long as the 
worm of sensuality is corroding the blossoms of mental 
j)ower, all is to no purpose ; the brutish jiassion must be 
'first extirpated. Love, on the contrary, awoke many 
a young man from his mental slumber, and incited him 
to overtake and surpass, in a few years, his school-fellows. 
Tlie educator of Geneva was with this power of love Avell 
ac.juainted ; his Emile must first love, then he learned 
foreign languages. 



IMoRAL Culture, 231 



rLLUSTRATIONS. 

THE TKE.iSURE-I>I<;(iER.* 

All my weary days I pass d 
Sick at heart and poor in purse. 
Poverty's the greatest curse, 
liiches are tlie highest good I 
And to end my woes at last, 
Treasure-seeking forth I sped. 
"Thou shalt have my soul instead ! " 
Thus I wrote, and with my Idnod. 

Iiing round ring I forthwith drew, 
Woncb'ous flames collected th'ere, 
Herbs and bones in o.der fair, 
Till the charm had work'd aright. 
Then, to learned precepts true, 
T>ug to find some treasure old. 
In the place my art foretold ; 
Black and stormy was the night. 

Coming o'er the distant plain. 
With the glimmer of a star, 
Soon I saw a light afar. 
As the hour of midnight knell'd. 
Preparation was in vain. , 

Sudden all was lighted up 
With the luster of a cup 
That a beauteous boy upheld. 

Sweetly seemed his eyes to laugh 
'Neath his flow'ry chaplet's load; 
With the drink that brightly glow'd, 
He the circle enter'd in. 
And he kindly bade me quaff; 
Then methought : "This child can ne'er, 
♦ ATith his gift so bright and fair, 
To the arch-fiend be akin. ' 

•Goetbe's Poems, trauslated by E. A. Bowing', Luniloii. 



232 The EmicATijfG INFother. 



" Pure life's courage drink !" cried he; 
" Tliis advice to prize then learn, — 

Never to this place return, 

Trusting in thy spells absurd ; 

Dig no longer fruitlessly. 

Cuests by night, and toil l)y day! 

Weeks laborious, feast-days gay ! 

Be thy future magic-word !" 

MEANS FOR MAKING CHILBKEN LOATH TO WELL-DOING. 

Caroline thought : " To-day I shall try to be a very 
good girl, that the father to whom I cause so much 
trouble will be pleased wth me." Therefore, as soon as 
she had got up from her bed she sat down behind her sew- 
ing machine, and worked as diligently as you could expect 
one of her age. She said to herself: " How the father 
mil laugh when he comes into the room, and sees how 
diligent I am." Tlie father entered, Ijut did not ,laugh. 
He took the almanac and looked to see how soon tliere 
would lie full moon. He entered again ; then she gazed 
so lovingly at him that you would think he must notice 
her, but he did not. On the contrary, he went up to the 
dog, and began caressing him. After dimier he Avent 
out. Caroline went immediately into his rooui, swept it, 
put the chairs in order, cleaned the tables, and removed 
all the things she thought out of their right place. After 
this she sat down and wrote him a very nice letter, in 
which she dearly assured him that she would be hence- 
forth a very obedient and good daughter. Now the 
father came and entered liis room. Caroline followed 
stealthily in order to witness his delight. But the father 
took no notice of the work Avhicli, during his absence, she 
had done. "Where is my jjocket-book ? " he calk'd out 
vehemently. Caroline, who could not recollect in her 



Moral Culture. 233 



confusion where she had put it, ran frightened all around 
t(» t^earch for it, saying: "I have, I ha\^e — " " Ali, you 
put it away ?" "Yes; I wished — I wished — " "Such 
a sini])h'toii as you should not meddle witli my things!" 
This disheartened the poor ehild so Juueh that she I'cally 
was about to tear the letter. Finally she ventured to 
hand it to him. " Get out with that trash ! I have no 
time to bother with it." This repulsive treatment killed 
forever any desire in Caroline's mind to please him. 

A PLEA FOR CniLDUEN* — KEEP CHILDREN BUSY. 

[Jeremiah and FranhlinJ^ 

Jeremiah. I don't know what on earth to do ^vith the 
children. " They are getting so mischievous I can't have 
them in the house, the liack yard is too small for them to 
play in, and if you let them loose in tlie street, they come' 
back with the slang words and roguish tricks of the 
young scamps in the neighborhood piled on their own. 
I don't really see what is to be done!" 

Frank/Ill. "What's to be done? It certainly is a 
(piestion of doing. The poor things must do something, 
and Avhether it is mischief or not, depends much on your- 
self, my dear sir. They are like little lightning-rods fully 
charged with the electricity of their frolicsome youth. 
Keej) titem bim/, employ their young minds and restless 
fingers, and if you are tempted to get out of patience, 
remember the tortures you yourself used to endure as a 
child, when your parents compelled you to ' sit still and 
be quiet.' Little people were never made to be quiet. 
Time enough for that when their hair is streaked with 
the first silver threads. Give them something to do; en- 



^Bostou Investigator, 18S5. 



234 The Educatino Mother. 



courage their enterprise, and thc}^ will be contented 
enough. Don't leave them to the risks of a street edu- 
cation. Let them see that you symj^athize with their 
pursuits; teach them that 'father' is never too busy to 
listen to their questions and conjectures. The greatest 
mistake of all, liowever, is t(j believe that children can 
be happy without em2:)loynient, or that the constant 
'Why?' of their inquiring eyes and voices can be put 
olf witli, ' Go and sit down,' or, ' Children shouldn't ask 
questions.' If the children are not to l^e allowed that 
privilege, who is, I want to know. Again I say, Give 
them something to do, and don't scold them for doing it." 

now TO DEVELOP IN CHILDEKN A TASTE FOR IDLENESS. 

If Master Piger had work to do, even if it needed but 
a little exertion, he talked of it some weeks before. He 
was stretching himself, yawning, sighing, and saying, 
"Next week I shall feel wretched, then I shall lie obliged 
to labor. I wish that the damned job were past ! " If 
the work was at hand, he fell every fifteen minutes on 
the bench sighing and crying : " O God, the work ! It 
is not possible to enjoy life." Sunday was highly valued 
by him. On Saturdays he' used to say : " Thank God, 
the week has passed again, to-morrow is Sunday, then I 
will sleep like a rat. Nobody shall get me out of bed 
before nine o'clock." And he kept his word. If he saw 
a capitalist walking, he used to point him out to his chil- 
dren, saying : " This man is rich. He has no need to 
stir a finger, he can eat and drink what he pleases, and 
sleep a long as he likes to. 

His eldest son, Nicholas, imbibed this doctrine with 
ease, and took i)ains to practice it. During the first 
twelve years of life he was always idle so tha*: it was 



MoEAi. Cn/n^RE. 235 



only with much ])aiii and punishment that he learned to 
read and write. 

Master Piger would have liked to have his son pass 
the remainder of his life in rest; Init being poor, he 
finally asked him the important (question, "Nicholas, 
what would you like to become?" Nicholas answered 
resolutely, " A student, father ; " for he imagined that a 
student must do nothing but drink and smoke. IMaster 
Piger approved of his son's resolve, and permitted him 
to become a student. As he had many jobs in distin- 
guished families, he succeeded in obtaining support for 
his promising son, and in the eighteenth year of his life, 
which happened to be the year 1878, Nicholas really had 
the pleasure of becoming a student, which he still is, in 
1887. In the first three years of his academical course, 
he made his living off his patrons; during the following 
three years by gambling and cheating his young and green 
comrades. In the remainder of time he gets along in- 
deed miserably. His merriment is waning, the tricks at 
gambling arc detected, his coat is fading, his linen is dirty; 
but his brother set sail for America ; who can tell, per- 
haps he will acquire a large fortune, and die in order to 
please him, leaving him the heir of his whole property. 
In this agreeable anticipation he endures patiently the 
pinching of hunger, and the gnawing of vermin. 

TEACHERS ARE ALSO MEN'. 

Mr. Samson sent his little son to a school, in which 
Avere several teachers, not Avholly free from faults, for 
they were men ; one was somewhat passionate, and, there- 
fore, had many quarreh with others; the other liked 
finery, and his wages not l)eing sufficient, he Si)metime3 
lacked money for necessary articles, and had, here and 



236 The Educating Mother. 



there, to borrow, and was, now and then, unkindly 'im- 
portuned by his creditors. Tlie third was merry, and 
allowed himself to drink a glass too much in merry soci- 
ety. If one of these gentlemen occasionally committed 
a blunder, Mr. Samson noticed it, and often spoke of it 
in the presence of his little son. " Yes, these are school- 
teachers, it is a pity ! One is quarreling every day, the 
second is a bankrupt, and the third a drunkard. If the 
teachers behave that way, what will the scholars do ? " 
So he used to talk very often. But he never spoke 
worse of them than when they reprimanded or punished 
his son. Then he used to say: "What does the fool 
want? He better take care of himself; let him rather 
sweep before his oiu)i door." 

Little Samson, who Avas not the brightest, still remem- 
bered all these words. If a teacher reprimanded him, he 
laughed, thinking: " The fool better take care of himself; 
let him sweep before his own door." When he left 
school, he was a very wild boy and did not heed the re- 
monstrances of the father. He picked so many quarrels 
that, by degrees, he spent his whole jiroperty for lawsuits, 
and finally lived in utter poverty. 



TWENTY-SIXTH LETTER. 

THRIFT AND FRUGALITY — CRAVINGNESS, AVARICE, AND PRODI- 
GALITY OF CHILDREN — LOVE OF ORDER AND 
CLEANLINESS — VANITY. * 

We know well that saving is not a favorite virtue unto 
the young ; on the contrary, they ai'e inclined to prodi- 
gality. In order to prevent the one, and to foster the 
other, do not give childi'cn all for nothing; they ought to 
earn many a thing themselves. Need is the mother of 



Moral Culture. 231 



saving. Every pupil, when eighteen or twenty years old, 
ought to be able to provide hi.s board himself. Help the 
child, even in childhood, to a little property. Not only 
ought he to drop presents given by kind hands into his 
saving-box, but also the pay for rendered services. Sa- 
cred be to you the little possessions of your children. I 
should rather starve than withdraw from my son his 
savings, be it even for the noblest purpose, without his 
consent. But parents should keep control of the receipts 
and expenses of the children. Take away the presents 
the miser receives,- and oblige him to spend what he earns 
to a good purpose. Let the young spendthrift l)ecorae 
embarrassed ; he should feel the sufferings of want, he 
should starve in order that he may recover his good sense, 
and learn housekeeping. 

Moreover, train early to frugality; slum pam])ering, 
and habituate to hardiness. Awaken the desire for, and 
api^reciation of, truth, the beautiful, and, in sh(jrt, for 
mental culture. A love for the sciences and arts is al- 
most the orily preventive of children against fondness 
for good cheer and luxury. Craving and immoderate 
inclination to sensuality must he by degrees restrained 
and crushed. 

Nothing facilitates every work, and furthers its success 
so nuieh as order: Habituate the pupil to it betime. 
He ought to perform his duties at a definite hour, to keep 
his belongings in a definite place, to put his clothes in a 
definite room. Clothing, school implements, })laythings 
ought not to lie scattered about. Older children should 
have fixed hours for their woik. If, in the first place, 
the mother herself loves order, and pays particular atten- 
tion to cleanliness, her example will do this for them. 



238 The Educating Mothek. 



Cleanliness recommeiuls young people, especially girls, 
more than beauty itself. Nothing is more respected in 
the fashionable world than a genteel beha\ior and clean- 
liness. The latter can, therefore, not be brought home 
too closely to the hearts of our youth. For the most 
part the laziness and the example of the jjarents is the 
cause of the slovenliness of the children. " Teach your 
chil'dren to be clean ; the dirty child is the mother's dis- 
grace."* The face and hands, the dwelling and cloth- 
ing of the children should always be kej)t clean. Do 
not jjermit them to associate with children whose exterior 
is neglected, for impurity of morals and external filth 
are too often matched together. Impress upon the girl 
the fact that not poorness, but certainly carelessness in 
dressing is a disgrace. A girl can be dressed poorly, and 
yet decently, and even with good taste. Besides, mothers 
ought to be careful that their daughters be not conceited 
by their beauty, attire, and finery. A pure, smiling face, 
plain, clean dress, and a rose in the curled hair, joined to 
chastity, good breeding, and benevolence, impart a young 
lady a higher value than glittering diamonds and the 
finest laces. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN FOND OF DAINTIES. 

Freddie wanted the first of every meal that was Served 
up. If the mother brought cake into the room, the 
daughter called out, " Mamma, I want some cake, too," 
and the tender mother replied, " Ye?, Freddie, you shall 
have cake, only wait a moment, till I fetch the knife." 

*Chavasse, " Physical Training of Ciiildren ." 



Moral Culture. 239 



But Freddie did not like to wait; she demanded, impet- 
uously, " 1 want cake now ;" so the mother broke off a 
piece with her hand. When the dishes Avere served up, 
she drew her chair up also, shoved her i)hite to the dish, 
and the mother helped her to a piece. To be sure, the 
father sometimes told her that this behavior was unwom- 
anly, but she met him with the answer : " She is but a 
child ; Avhen she gets her reason, she will be all right ! " 
If the parents had visitors, the first cu]) of coffee, of 
course, Avas given to her, and the guests had to wait till 
the demands of Freddie were satisfied. If the dessert 
Avas served up, she mtist also get her share. When this 
was eaten, she j)ulled the apron of the mother, pointing 
to the plate, an<l even cried out, Avhen the mother took no 
notice of her, " I Avant dessert, dessert," and the kind 
mother handed one piece after another behind her chftir. 
By and by Freddie aaiis no more a child ; she became 
a young lady. But still, as to her selfish greed, she was 
not " all right," as the mother had believed. Whenever 
she saAV some dainty, it made her mouth Avater, and she 
would mischievously get possession of it. The mother 
had to lock up everything on hei" account, else as soon 
as she turned her back, Miss Frederica Avas at it, and ate 
it. Do you Avonder Avhere her unconquerable longing for 
dainties had its rise? 

MR. ANTHONY. 

GIVE CHILDREN MONEY \/ITnOlTT ASKING HOW THEY USE IT. 

Mr. Anthony had heard it said that in distinguished 
families it is the fashion to give pocket money to the chil- 
dren. As he Avould be ranked among the distinguished, 
he, also, gave his children pocket money on Sunday, iind 



240 The Educating Mother. 

when Simday next returned he paid the granted sum 
again without inquiring a word as to how they used it. 
They spent it entirely for dainties. In the first week 
their pocket money sufficed to cover these exjoenses, but 
as their covetousness was more and more incited, and in 
course of time they became acquainted mth dearer del- 
icacies, it was usually spent already on Mondaj^ Now, 
the good children ought to live the whole week long 
without being able to eat dainties out of the pocket; 
that would not do Ijy any means. Therefore they con- 
templated means to remedy this want. First, tliey J)or- 
rowed, and paid with the money ^v'hich Was designed for 
the next week, but this could not hold out. Things 
soon went on so far that they had spent tlieir pocket 
money three months in advance. What was then to be 
dcfne? They had recourse to stealing, and peiformed 
their part quite cunningly. As their father had a large 
revenue, and did not know, himself, how much money he 
possessed in cash, they could steal from him, dollar l)y 
dollar, without his noticing it. The dissolute student 
who pawned all his goods, and some weeks ago was im- 
prisoned for his debts ; and tlie woman so notorious for 
pawning her linen and clothes in order to make, by 
stealth, good pastry — these are the children of whom I 
spoke now. Too late tlie gooil father is grieved almost 
to death, and aj^solutely wants to know who spoiled liis 
children. He says that he is n(jt in fault ; that he has 
brought them up to honest living. 

THE VAINGLORIOUS ERNESTINE. 

AVhen Miss Emily got married, she must, to her great 
vexation, abandon her doll which hitherto had been her 
dearest companion. Nine months after Ernestine was 



Moral Culture. 241 



born, and Emily felt the los.s of her doll entirely repaid. 
Dnring her eliildbed she laid i^reat plans as to the future 
arrangement of the chihl's linery, and for the most i)art 
executed them hap})ily. She succeeded in dressing her 
hail- in her third year. Ernestine jxissessed several good 
qualities. She often shared her breakfast Avith poor 
children, and cheer(>d them from her saving-box. She 
was desirous of learning. Often she fetched her primer 
herself, and asked the mother to teach her the letters. 
All this was not observed. On the contrary, if the 
trimming was a success, if she wore a new dress, ])onnet, or 
ribbon, the mother could not praise and admire it enougli. 
She embraced and kissed her, called her her angel, her 
darling, led her to the mirror and asked her with moth- 
erly tenderness to be cautious less she deranged the head- 
gear, or s])oiled the di-ess. J>y this faithful eilucution 
Ernestine at last was pei'fcctly C()nvinced that woman was 
created to adorn herself, and that fmery is her highest 
happiness. She became exceedingly vain. She is as 
pi'oiid of her gold watch as other peo[)le are of their 
clear conscience ; she talks of her Parisian Ixmnet with 
as nuich warmth as another woman would of honesty, 
and she pardons more easily the greatest meanness than 
neglect in dressing. She does not know how to cook a 
good meal, how many yards are wanted for a coverlet; 
l)ut she knows by rote how the sweet-scented pomade is 
prepared, and how many yards of lace are wantetl to 
trim a ball-dress. During gloomy hours, while other 
people read good books, she has recourse to the wardrobe, 
to the jewel-casket, and counts over and over her dresses, 
ribbons, and rings ; that is the consolation and comfort of 

her heart. 

16 



242 The Educating Motiiktj. 



■ TWENTY-SEVENTH LETTER. 

GENERAL KESPEOT FOli MANKTND — REGAKD EOR THE PROPERTY 
OF OTHERS— ^FILCHTNG — VERACITY — LYING — PATRIOTISM. 

Reason teaches us the respectable qualities of human 
nature wliieh cannot be destroyed Ijy any meanness, only 
polluted, but again purified. Instruct your children to 
respect luiinan nature in themselves and other men. Its 
nobihty shines also on the forehead of the day-laborer. I 
wsh that mothers, especially those whom fortune favored 
with prominence and riches, would iu)}jress upon their 
children i-espect for honest labor, and warn them not to 
abuse the power that descent, rank and gold jirociu'e to 
them, and earnestly to resent every infringement of tlie 
rights of common ])eople. On the contrary, poor parents, 
in particular, ought to instill into their childreu such a dig- 
nified self-respect that they Avould never yield to cowardly 
humiliation, and never give up their most sacred rights. 
Their mothers should rather inspire them to defend their 
rights, and animate them with a noble pride against the 
haughty upstart. 

Let the 'pi'operty of othei's be sacred to yourself, and it 
will also be respected by your cliildren. The filching 
habits of little children originate from their ignorance 
of tlie rights of proj^erty ; they do not have yet any idea 
of the distinction between "mine" and "thine." As 
every child ought to have a little property, it is easy to 
make him understand the principle, " What you don't 
like others to do unto you, that, also, do not imto them." 
Take care that the cliild earns some property himself 
He who has to earn something learns soon to comprehend 
the sanctity of property. Don't permit children to talk 
each other out of a thing. The little thief should be 



Moral Ottlturk. 248 



made to return what he stole, or to make amends of the 
damage. Corporal correction may, according- to circum- 
stances, also fall to his lot. With older pupils an ai)peal 
should be made to the impulse of honor, and be born 
with their sense of shame by keeping secret their trespass. 
Parents should never smile at the sly cheats of their 
children, however much they may resemble fine juggling 
tricks, nor how seemingly innocent their object may be. 
From the parents the child learns best the beauty and 
necessity of veracity, too. For this reason the parents 
should forbear telling lies by way of joke, shifts, pious 
and conventional lies. tSome parents tell children pious 
stories which they do not believe themselves. That is 
the way to educate hypocrites. Show how you detest 
liai's and slanderers, and let no lie of the children })ass 
unresented. Pupils growing to maturity ought to learn 
to join sincerity with in-udence and taciturnity. Childi-en 
are naive. They do not know the art of dissembling, 
and tell people the truth in a straightforward way. I 
prefer to let them long retain their childish simplicity 
than to make them early friends of conventional lies. 
If a child commits a fault, we ought to punish it hu- 
manely and rather to set entire amnesty the prize of its 
sincerity than to misguide it by severity to lie.* 
Children often speak untruth, partly for the hojje of 
gaining something by lying, often to evade a punishment, 
and often they are deceived by their imagination, which, 
at their age, is very vivid and lively. Malicious lies, 
too, sometimes occur. The healing of the defect is to be 
adapted to its source. In eveiy case let the liar feel that 
you prefer sincerity to anything. Recompense the ve- 



*Compare second illustration of twenty first letter. 



244 The EDUcATiNa Mother. 

racioLis one with confidence; the share of the Har be 
diffidence, contempt and disgrace. He ought to feel that 
falsehood only renders the evil worse. Corporal punish- 
ment may be inflicted, too, upon the malicious liar, be- 
cause he will harm others. But we ought to avoid ex- 
torting confession from the little sinner as though he was 
at the mercy of an inquisitorial tribunal. Seldom should 
we require even his confession ; why must he still confess, 
if blushing, trembling, tears of the miserable testify loud 
enough against him? 

Implant patriotism in the hearts of your older children. 
In which way can this be done? Delineate them the 
benefits they owe to their country, saying : " You lived 
here when you were a little child. How many pleasures 
did you enjoy here in the different seasons of the year! 
The animals, the fields and gardens of your country sj)end 
you their riches. It is the country of your jDarents, to 
whom you owe your life, who sujiport and protect you, 
and spend their own in order to satisfy your wants ; who 
give you an education, and send you to school where 
your mind is enlightened, developed and instructed in 
several useful branches of learning. Besides you are 
indebted to this country for your brothers, sisters and 
friends. How many happy hours did you pass in their 
intercourse. For these reasons you ought to be grateful 
to her, to give your love and respect to her institutions, 
to obey her laws, and advance her prosperity." 

" Knit to thy heart the ties of kindred, home, 
Cling to the land, the dear land of thy sires, 
Grapple to that with thy whole heart and soul. 
Thy power is rooted deep and strongly here. 
But in yon stranger world thou'lt stand alone 
A trembling reed bent down by every blast."* 

'SchUler, " Wilhelm Tell," Act 11, Scene I. 



MoRAT. Ctilture. 245 



Moreover, let tlic cliiklren study the history of their 
country, and learn her hapi)y events and misfortunes, the 
glorious and the shameful deeds (jf her citizens. Narrate 
to them the history of the li))eral citizens whose works Averc 
conducive to the })ublic good, who jeopardized and sacri- 
ficed tlieir own life for their countiy, of Leonidas, Codrus, 
Aristides, Brutus, Arminius, William Tell, Arnold Wiu- 
kelried, Joan of Arc, Marco Bozzaris, George Washing- 
ton, Aliraham Ijincoln, who delivered four millions of 
slaves from hondage, of the American Revolutionary War, 
and encourage them to defend their country, in the same 
way, if it be necessary, against her foreign and domestic 
enemies, even to offer, like those heroes, their life for her 
welfare. 



I L LUSTRA TIONS. 

THE MAII>-SEHVANTS AND THETR MIS'J'KESS. 

Mrs. Shrew, Charlotte's mother, had, as she said, bad 
luck with her maid-servants. She had sought, a long 
time, a girl who would be entirely according to her mind, 
but, alas ! in vain. She turned every year three or four 
out, hoping to get finally a really good one, and she never 
got her. She used to say, "If I expel one devil, I re- 
cover another." The first was too slow, the other too 
saucy, the third looked as if her eyes would stab every- 
one, the fourth had a malicious tongue ; in a word, of the 
sixty girls she had engaged during the sixteen years of 
her married life, each one had a great flaw. And she 
had kept them all in memory. Whenever the servants 
were mentioned, she related with the greatest vehemence 
what she had suffered from Julia, Christina, and Kath- 
arine, and usually added tliat this rablile did not deserve 



246 The Educating Mother. 



a bit of tliG bread she offered them. If a girl made a 
mistake, you ought to have heard the fuss she made about 
it! "You- infamous wretch," she used to say, "you are 
not worth that the sun shines upon you. Such a block- 
head. Do you not know that you are eating my bread ? " 
etc., etc. 

Near such a mother Charlotte grew up. The servant- 
girls must wait on her from daylight till evening ; they 
had to make her bed, to wash her linen, to bake her 
bread, to mend her clothing, to cook her meals, to fetch 
all she pleased from the most distant quarters of town ; 
and it never occurred to her mind to show them any 
gratitude for the many comforts they conferred iiyion hev. 
On the contrary, she treated the persons who rendered 
her so many services in the meanest manner. " Block- 
head, monkey's face, camel ! " these were the usual titles 
she gave them ; and if something happened contrary to 
her will, e. g., if the stay-lace broke, or the head-dress 
would not fit well, then she called for the girl in order to 
vent her indignation on her. If someone had so used 
her lap-dog, I should have liked to see the result. 

HOW TO TEACH CHILDREN TO LIE — OKDER THEM TO LIE BETIME. 

Master Stephen was very able to practice that rule. 
Hardly a day passed away without instructing little 
Stephen to tell at least one lie. If he noticed that some- 
one whom he did not like to see would visit him, he put 
him to the door, and said : " If such a one comes to see 
me tell him the father is not at home." If a poor 
woman or child came to ask a piece of bread, he ordered 
him to say that he had, to-day, no bread for himself. 
The little boy did not like to go to school, and missed it 
under diverse trifling pretexts. Next day ho was still 



MoKAi> Culture. 247 



more afraid of it because he feared to be punished. 
"FooUsh boy!" said then INtaster Stephen, "you have 
only to say that you were unwell, the teacher must be- 
lieve it, anyhow." 

Mrs. Ste[)hcu was rather niogardly in Iier expenditures, 
and if the little son asked for a cent to l)uy biscuit, he 
was usually denied it. Nevertheless, he ate every day 
cherries, strawberries, or other fruit of the season. His 
father gave him secretly cent by cent, but Avarned him to 
conceal his money before his mother, and if she saw it 
to tell her that his godfather had given it to him. The 
young Stephen made soon great progress in lying ; but he 
played, also, when he was older, many a trick with which 
his father was not pleased. He left his work for half days 
on the pretext that he was obliged to sec the godfather 
or grandmother, but he went, instead, into the most dis- 
solute houses, wherc>, he squandered many a dollar. By 
and by the father missed money and other valuables. 
Once, being at table, he said, "There nnist be a thief in 
the house, whom I nuist find out." The young Stephen 
took the father aside, and whispered in his car : " Will 
you know who is your thief? It is the journeyman. He 
spends so jnuch in th(>- saloons, that the whole town talks 
of it. Do you not miss a dollar? Indeed? Now sec, 
last Sunday he staked it in the hotel, in gambling." 
Master Stephen was vexed, attacked the man furiously, 
and called him a thief, a rascal. The young man cried, 
" The rascal shall cost you dearly." He brought an ac- 
tion against Master Stephen, which resulted in the fact 
that his accuser had to ask his |)ardon, make reparation 
of his honoi', and besides pay a heavy fine. 

Finally it happened, ac^'ording to the proverb, "The 



248 The Educating Mother. 



jar that goes so often for water finally breaks." Master 
8tej)heu detected, l>y and by, all the villainies of his son. 
He scolded, he chastised, he threatened him with the 
house of correction ; l)ut nothing availed. Pic became a 
poor man. Then he is said to have often lamented, " I 
wish to know where my son learned to tell those cursed 
lies!" 

LAUGH AT THE LIES OF YOUR CHILBREN, AND KECOMPENSE 
THEM IF THEY LIE. 

"Do I also get wine?" asked little Annie of her 
mother. "No, Amiie, wine is noxious to children." 
" But I am sick, and have a weak stomach. You told 
me once that wine is healthiiil to a weak stomach." The 
whole company laughed at the droll girl. The mother 
seized immediately the bottle, and poured from its con- 
tents, saying : " Here is a little glass full for you, little 
Avanton. Is now the stomach well, indeed?" "Yes, 
mamma, quite well, nothing ails me more." This sally 
was also received with laughter. Annie kept it in mem- 
ory, and tried several times to ol^tain the approlDation of 
her mother, and so she got used, by such jokes, to lie so 
often that she, in future, was always in town known by 
the nickname, " The lying Annie." 

A MODEL OF CONVENTIONAL LIES.* 

" I really take it very kind, 

This visit, Mrs. Skinner. » 

I have not seen yoii in an age — 
(The wretch has come to dinner!) 

" Your daughters, too, what loves of girls, 
What heads for painters' easels! 
Come here and kiss the infant, dears, ^ 
(And give it, p'raps, the mer.sles!) 

'Poems of Thi mias Hood . 



]MoRAT> Cui/ruRE. 249 

"Your charming boys, I see are home 
From Reverend Mr. lUissell's; 
'Twas very kind to l)ring them both, — 
(Wliat boots for myaiew Briist;cls!) 
"What! Little Clara left at home? 
Well, now, I call that shabby; 
I should have loved to kiss her so, — 
(A ilabby, daljby, babbyl) 

" And Mr. Skinner, I hope ho's well. 
Ah! though he lives so handy, 
He never now drops in to sup, — 
(The Ijetter for our brandy!) 

"Come, take a sit; I long to hear 
About JNIatilda's marriage. 
You're come, of course, to spend the day! 
(I thank heaven I hear the carriage!) 

"What, must you go? Next time, I hope 
You'll give mc longer measure; 
Nay, I shall see you down the stairs, — 
(With most uncommon pleasure!) 

"Good-by! (lood-)>y! r>cmeml)er all. 
Next time you'll take your dinners! 
(Now, David, mind Fin not at home 
In future to the Skinners!)" 

THE SICK GRANDMOTHER AND LITTLE RODOLPH, HER GRAND- 
SO:^. A DIALOGCTE.* 

Grandmother, {^peaking to Rodolph) " AVhy didst 
thou yesterday, secretly, behind my bed, eat potatoes ? " 

Rodolph. " Pardon iHc, grandma, I shall not more do 
it. To be sure, I shall do it never more." 

G. " Didst thou steal them ? " 

R. (mbhing') " Yes, grandma." 

G. " From whom didst tliou steal them ? " 

*Froin Pestalozzi, in " Lienliard and Gertrude." 



250 The Educating Mother. 

B. " From the mason." 

G. "Thou must go to him, Rodolph, and beg his 
pardon." 

JR. " Dear grandma, for God's sake, I dare not." 

6r. " Thou must go, and, my child, go willingly. An- 
other time, thou shalt be more careful ; and, for heaven's 
sake, though thou be hungry, do not take more anything 
from another." 

B. " Grandma, I shall certainly not more steal, though 
I be hungry." 

She said yet to her son Rodolph, the father of little 
Rodolph : " Go now with him and tell to the wife of the 
mason that I, too, beg her pardon. They Avant, also, 
their own. And you work for him a couple of days, 
will you, that they get again their own. 

" O my God," replied Rodolph, " willingly, dear 
mother." 

THE TWENTIETH CEMTtJEY.* 

Louis Philippe, in 1830 elected king of France, did 
not fulfill the expectations of the i)atriots. He, by de- 
grees, joined the odious party of retrocession. ' Bloody 
insurrections broke out in La Vendee, and other parts of 
the country. Such one occurred in Paris, tlie sixth of 
June, in 1832, in which the insurgents were overwhelmed 
and killed by tlic troops of the Government. Before 
they began the last fight, Enjolras, their leader, ad- 
dressed his fellow-combatants thus : — 

" Courage, and forward, citizens ! We are proceeding 
to a union of the peoples ; we are proceeding to a unity 
of man. No more fictions, no more parasite. Civiliza- 
tion will hold its assize on the summit of Europe, and 



*Victor Hugo in " Lea Miserables," cli. 230. 



Moral Culture. 251 

eventually iu the center of the continent in a great par- 
liament of intellect. Let us come to an understanding 
about equality, for if liberty be the simimit, equality is 
the base. Equality, citizens, is not the whole of society 
oil a level, a society of tall blades of grass, and small 
oaks, or a number of entangled jealousies ; it is, civilly, 
every aptitude having the same opening ; politically, all 
votes having the same weight ; and religiously, all con- 
sciences having the same right. Equality has an organ 
iu gratuitous and compulsory education, and it should 
begin with the right to the alphabet. The primary 
(common) school imposed on all, the secondary (higher) 
school offered to all ; such is the law, and from the iden- 
tical school issues equal instruction. Yes, instruction! 
Light, light ! Everything comes from light, and every- 
tliing returns to it. Citizens, the nineteenth century is 
great, but the twentieth century will be happy. Then 
there will be nothing left resembling ancient history; 
there will be no cause to fear, as at the present day, a 
conquest, an invasion, usurpation, an armed livalry of 
nations, an interruption of civilization depending on a 
marriage of kings, a birth in hereditary tyrannies, a 
division of peoples by congress, a dismemberment by the 
collapse of dynasties, a combat of two religions, clashing 
like two goats of the darkness, on the bridge of infinity ; 
there will be no cause longer to fear famine, exhaustion, 
prostitution through destiny, misery through stoppage of 
work, and the scaffold, and the sword, and battles, and all 
the brigandage of accident in the forest of events ; Ave 
might almost say there will be no more events. We 
shall be happy; the human race will accomplish its law 
as the terrestrial law does its law. Oh, the human race 
will be delivei-ed, relieved, and consoled ! " 



252 The Ebucating Mother. 

THE KICH AND POOK. * 

So we ought to teach our children that great wealth is 
a curse. Great wealth is tlie uiother also of crime. On 
the other hand are the poor. And let me ask to-night. 
Is the Avorld forever to remain as it was as Lear made 
his prayer? Is it ever to remain as it is now? I hope 
not. Are there always to be millions whose lips are 
white with famine ? Is the withered palm to be always 
extended, imploring from the stony heart of respectable 
charity, alms? Must every man who sits down to a 
decent dinner always think of the starving ? Must every- 
one sitting by the fireside, think of some poor mother, 
with a child strained to her breast, shivering in the 
storm ? I hope not. Are the rich always to be divided 
from the poor, not only in fact but in feeling? And 
that division is growing more and more every day. The 
gulf between Lazarus and Dives widens year by year, 
only their positions are changed. Lazarus is in hell, 
Dives is in the ])osom of Abraham. 

And there is one thing that helps to Aviden this gulf. 
In nearly every city you will find the fashionable part 
and the poor part. The poor know nothing of the fash- 
ionable part, except the outside splendor; and as they 
go by the palaces, that poison plant called envy springs 
and grows in their poor hearts. The rich know nothing 
of the poor, except the squalor, and rags, and wretched- 
ness, and Avhat they read in the police records, and they 
say: " Thank God, we are not like those people." Their 
hearts are filled with scorn and contempt, and the hearts 
of the others with envy and hatred. There must be 
some Avay devised for the rich and poor to get acquainted. 

*Froni the " Lay-sormon " of Robert Tntjersoll. 



MoRAi. Culture. 253 

The ])oor do not know how many well-dressed people sym- 
piitliize with them, and the ricli do not know how many 
noble hearts beat beneath rags. If we can ever get tlie 
loving poor acquainted with the syni])athizing rich, thiis 
({uestion will be nearly solved. 

You have heard a great deal lately upon tlie land sub- 
ject. ]jot me say a word or two upon that. No man 
should be allowed to own any land that he does not use. 
Everybody knows that I do not care whether he has 
thousands or millions. I have owned a great deal of 
land, but I know just as well as I know I am living that 
I should not be allowed to have it unless I use it. And 
why ? It seems to me that every child of nature is entitled 
to his share of the land, and that he should not be com- 
pelled to beg the privilege to work the soil of a babe that 
ha])})eued to be born before liim. And why do I say 
this? Because it is not to our interest to have a few 
landlords and millions of tenants. 

The tenement house is the enemy of modesty, the 
enemy of virtue, the enemy of patriotism. Home is 
where the virtues grow. I would like to see the law so 
that every home, to a small amount, shoidd be free not 
only from sale or debts, but shoidd be absolutely free 
from taxation, so that every man could have a hom(\ 
Then we will have a nation of patriots. 

What remedy, then, is there? First, the great weapon 
in this country is the ballot. P]ach voter is a sovereign. 
There the poorest is the equal of the I'ichest. His vote 
will count just as many as though the hand that cast it 
controlled millions. The })o()r are in the majority in this 
country. If there is any law that oi)presses them it is 
their fault. Let us, above all things, get acquainted Avith 



254 The Educating Mother. 



each other. Let every man teach his son, teacli his 
daughter, that Labor is honorable. Let us teach our 
children : It is j^our business to see that you never be- 
come a burden on others. Your first duty is to take 
care of yourselves, and if there is a surjolus, with that 
surplus help your fellow-man ; that you owe it to your- 
selves, above all things, not to be a burden upon others. 
Teach your son that it is his duty not only, but his high- 
est joy, to become a home-builder, a home-owner. Teach 
your children that by the fireside is the real and true 
hapjoiness of this world. Teacli them that whoever is an 
idler, whoever lives upon the labor of others, whether he 
is a pirate or a king, is a dishonorable person. Teach 
them that no civilized man wants anything for nothing, 
or for less than it is worth; that he wants to go through 
this world paying his way as he goes, and if he gets a 
little ahead an extra joy, it should be divided with 
another, if that other is doing for himself. Help others 
to help themselves. 

So far as I am concerned, I am going to do what little 
I can to help my fellow-men Avho \\a.ye not been as fort- 
unate as I have been. 1 shall do what little I can to 
hasten the day when this earth shall be covered witli 
homes, and ^vhen l)y the fireside of the world shall sit 
happy fathers, and mothers, and children. 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.* 

" Oh, slow to smite, and swift to spare, 

Gentle, and merciful, and just! 
Who in the fear of Clod didst bear 

The sword of power, a nation's trust! 

In sorrow by thy Iner we stand, 

* 

»W. U. Bryant. 



Moral Culture. 25 



Aiaiil the awe that hushes all, 
And speak the anguish of a land 

That shook with horror at thy fall. 
Thy task is done: llie bond are free; 

We bear thee to an honored grave, 
Whose proiidest monument shall be 

The broken fetters of the slave. 
Puru was thy life; its bloody close 

Hath placed thee with the sons of light, 
Among the noble ho.-it of those 

Who perished in the cause of right." 



TWENTY-EIGHTH LETTER. 

FILIAL LOVE, GRATITUDE, OBEDIENCE, DISOBEDIENCE, IRKITA- 

EILITY, WILLFULNESS, AND DEFIANCE — ON THE SCREAMING 

OF CHILDREN. 

It is a natural impulse for childreu to love their parents, 
for they are their greatest benefactors. Tlie children 
owe them their life, protection, supjoort and education. 
The father, especially, jirovides their livelihood, and the 
mother nurses them when they fall sick. If the parents 
are wliat they ought to be, they will l)e loved more ten- 
derly by their children than any othei' person. They 
should share their love in equal parts with all their chil- 
dreu, bear patiently with each other, and not expose their 
faults in the presence of the children. Teach your 
children that there is no uKaner creature than an mi- 
grateful child! 

Where the intellect of the chihl is not sufficient or 
efficacious, that of the parents ought to suppl}' it, and 
the child bo made to subject his will to theirs, that is, to 
obey. Only in this case demand obedience, for beyond 
it human right ceases. It is a matter of course that I 
am speaking only of the moral will of parents. If they 



256 Thr Educating Mother. 



give immoral orders they don't deserve obedience. As 
the intelligence of the children increases and their char- 
acter is firmer, diminish the number of your commands, 
and finally stop them altogether when the pupil, by his 
reason, has come to full age! As your authority rests 
upon the opinion of the child that you can. and will 
giude him reasonably, convince him of your parental 
alaility. Let him, therefore, feel your mental superiority; 
show him often the usefulness of your orders, especially 
after the action is accomjilished ; consider them before 
they are given, lest you be obliged to recall the given 
ones. Alteration of commands is at home as injurious 
as frequent change of laws in the State. Command \vith 
love. Let tlie tone in which you require due obedience 
be soft an( I heart-felt. Remind the older pupil of the 
benefits confei-red upon him, not with the stress of re- 
proach, but witli consciousness. Do not conceal tlie deep 
affliction his disobedience causes to you. Let him feel 
that your welfare is most intimately connected with his. 
Take also a hearty interest in tlie good actions of your 
children; concerning those show them your respect and 
satisfactio)!, and, where it depends upon you, there let 
take place, also, the beneficial consequences of obedience. 
If, in this way, tender, mutual love unites the hearts of 
parents and children, obedience is secured. 

Commands ought to l)e few in number, kind in their 
announcement, beneficial in their intention, short and in- 
telligible in expression. 

Take great care that they are carried into effect ; let 
nothing be obtained by flattery, still less by defiance ; the 
trespass be resented by all means, after calm statement 
of the culpability ! Yet do not demand military obedi- 
ence. 



MoBATi Culture. 257 

But what is to be done if children are cross, or even 
disobedient, wilful, refractory ? There are cross children 
who resent all blame with pride ; or who suspect evil be- 
hind every word of the educator. Weakness of intellect 
exists most frequently in their nature. Persuade such 
children that they are Avrong, in a calm, moderate tone, 
without notieiug jiarticularly their crossness! Refuse 
their plea with firmness; mildness is there seldom in the 
right place. 

Oftener still than crossness, iiuUfiibies-'i appears in the 
sphere of children. This is a scourge of parents, espe- 
cially of weak mothers. Therefore I shall discuss this 
subject more at large. First, of the ficreamhig of chil- 
dren during early infancy ! A celebrated physician (Di\ 
Soemmering, in Vienna) says: "According to my obser- 
vations during twenty years, the unruly screaming U a 
fault for which positively the educalt)r, never the child, 
is to be blamed, or it is a disease. I know few things so 
surely.'^ This remark is instructive for every mother. 
If older children complain of little pains, push the com- 
plaint by with some laughing jest, and do not make much 
fuss of it ; the pain is soon forgotten. But if crying is a 
consequence of considerable suffering, try your appeasing, 
mild voice ! Still, if screaming occurs yet in later time, 
willfulness is mostly its cause. In tliis case do not care 
for the screamer, Init remove him till he is silent, or leave 
him to himself! If the child can already state the rea- 
sons for his behavior, ask him why he is crying. He is 
sometimes quieted l)y reasonable exhortation ; if he con- 
tinues crying, order, vigorously, silence; if it does not 
ensue, lianish him to a place where the screamer does 
distui'b nobody. Any other punishment is seldom neces- 
17 



258 The Educating Mother. 



sary. Corporal chastisement may tame malicious cries. 
Let the Avillful brawler gain nothing, by any means ; re- 
fuse him flatly what he demands daringly. There is still 
a screaming for a suffered loss. It is. sometimes remedied 
by a comforting discourse, sometimes by charging a little 
commission, sometimes by a long speech, no matter on 
what theme. 

For the management of the other cases of willfulness 
its source again must first be investigated. This is found 
at one time in the body, at another in the intellect of the 
child, at another in the management of the educator; 
sometimes, also, it is the effect of a passion. According 
to experience, sick children sometimes are Avillful. Weak- 
minded children don't mind any reasons, even if they 
concern their benefit; their objections are not seldom 
very foolish. Usually the parents are themselves the 
most in fault. AS long time as children are young, 
mothers fulfill all their wishes ; thereby they lead them 
methodically to wilfulness, and render their charge of 
education themselves, for the future, more difficult. The 
injustice and severity of the fathers, also, makes children 
who are full of life stubborn, sometimes refractory. 
The fickleness in the management of the jiupil causes 
willfvdness, too. If tlie child is in company with play- 
mates, this fault takes rise often in pride, greediness, or a 
hateful mind. The last cause is sometimes even at the 
bottom of stubbornness against father and mother. 
These sources of Avillfulness must be first turned off; 
healing is then easy Avork. Avoid, in particular, to yield, 
from the beginning ! Always insist firmly upon the exe- 
cution of your orders ! Accustom early to obedience ! 
" Little Conrad," says Salzmann, in his book " Conrad 



Moral Culture. 250 



Kiefer" "learned till his fourth year, especially, four thinj»;s: 
to be attentive, to obey, to be compatible, and niodei^ate." 
But love and kindness must shine forth even from your 
punishing earnest. No excited irritability, much less 
vindictiveness, on the part of parents! It sometimes 
does good, also, to pay no attention at all to the vents of 
willfulness. Address the pouting child yourself first; 
set him a-speaking ; case his pressed heart ; your antici- 
pating benevolence will affect the stubborn, and reconcile 
him with his ill luck. Finally, we ought to beware to 
change the Avillful child into one having no will of liis 
own. Ought we to opi^ose always the will of our chil- 
dren? Firnniess of character and independence would 
be undone by such an education ; defiance, knavery, 
licentiousness would, necessarily, succeed. To liave a 
will of his own (I don't mean self-will), is a precious 
jewel in Hfe. The despotism of Governments and the 
servile disposition of nations take origin, most part, in 
the domestic government parents force upon their chil- 
dren. When and in which Avay recompenses and punish- 
ments, in case of obedience or disobedience, are to b*' 
used, was exi)lained in a former letter.* 



ILLLTSTIL-l TIONS. 

WRONG YOUR CHILDREN AND THEY WILL HATE YOU. 

Little Charlotte had gone into the garden of her fa- 
ther, where there were plenty of violets. " Hurrah," she 
exclaimed merrily, " there are l)eautiful flowers ; I will 
pick my apron full, and wnd a little bouquet for mamma." 
She knelt down quickly, and picked her little apron full, 

* See twenty-first letter. 



260 The Educating Mother. 



then she sat down under the apple tree, and finished the 
bouquet. " Here it is," she said, " now I will hurr}^ and 
take it to the dear mamma. How she will rejoice. 
Thereby I shall earn some sweet kisses." In order to 
make the joy still greater, she stole into the kitchen, took 
a china plate, put the l)ouquet on it, and hastened up- 
stairs in leaps, to the mother. She stumbled, fell, and — 
crack ! the plate went in a hundred pieces, and the 
bouquet was flung far off. The mother, who heard in the 
room the crash, immediately sprang out of the door, and 
seeing the broken plate, ran back, got a rod, and without 
inquiring what the child was intending to do with the 
plate, she switched lier furiously. Charlotte Avas lialf 
dead, frightened by the fall, the broken plate, and the 
rod, and unable to utter a word save, " Dear mamma — 
dear mamma." But it Avas all for nothing. " You little 
brute," the mother said, " to break such a nice plate ! " 

and gave . (charlotte was unable, for a long time, to 

forget the unrighteous punishment heaped upon her, and 
she resolved in her little heart never again to Aveave a 
bouquet for her mother.^ 

Louie received from her godmother, as a C/hristma3 
gift, a little salver filled up witli tin toys. Her cup of joy 
was full, and she proceeded, immediately, to arrange the 
precious toys in proper order. If other cliildreu paid 
her a visit, she gave them, usually, a little ti'eat, at which 
all dishes, plates, and candlesticks standing on the sal- 
ver were used. As soon as the visitors left, each waj 
cleaned and restored to its former place. Her godmother 
was much i:)leased, because she considered it as a meauo 
to accustom the child early U) (-)rder. But the happi- 
ness did not last a great while. On one occasion, 



IMoKAL Culture. 261 

"Willy, her lit le brother, stretched his hand for the tin 
toyr^, and the father gave him, right away, a little di.sh. 
Then he stretched again, and received, also, a little plate. 
Both toys were bent and spoiled in a moment. -When 
Charlotte retnrned, and saw the damage her brother had 
done, tears filled her eyes ; but as she was informed that 
the father had given the toys to him, she bore her sor- 
row patiently. The next day the mischief Avas repeated, 
and two candlesticks were spoiled by being bent. Then 
Charlotte could not stand it more ; she ran, most miser- 
able, to her father, saying, " Dear father, do you know 
that AVilly spoils my nice toys?" "Silly girl," was his 
answer, "what's that to you? I can do with your 
toys Avhat I please." Charlotte Ijecame silent. In less 
than four weeks her entire joy lay buried in the sweep- 
ings. She endured her pain, but conceived such a grudge 
against her father that she could not look friendly to hun 
for a long time. 

' now TO TEACH CHILDREN DISOBEDIENCE. 

GIVE MANY OBDERS WITHOUT INQHIRING HOW THEY WERE EX- 
ECtTTED ; THREATEN ALWAYS WITHOUT FULFILLING YOUR 
THREATS, AND YOU WILL BE SOON THE LAUGHING- 
STOCK OF YOUR BOYS. 

If you had judged from the orders Mrs. Bridget used 
to give to her children, you would have believed that her 
family was a model of order. " You, Christina, shall 
have the inspection of the bedroom, put it in order every 
morning, hang your dresses into this wardrobe, put the 
linen into this drawer. Follow these directions. And 
you, William, sliall take care that the glasses be washed, 
and the knives cleaned. At ten and four o'clock you 
shall always inquire if I have some errands for you. 



262 The Educating Mother. 

Mind it!" In this manner she spoke every day, and 
gave new commands every day without inquiring how 
the former ones were obeyed. Christina did not ar- 
range tlie bedroom; slie threw her dresses and linen just 
where she undressed . AVilliam did neither wash the glasses 
nor clean the knives ; at ten and four o'clock he was 
always on the play-ground. At last, things went on so 
far that the children turned round and laughed, if the 
mother would give them neAV commands. 

MORALIZE FREQUENTLY WITH CHILDREN. 

If Mrs. Ursula w^as with her children, she liked noth- 
ing better than to preach, saying, usually : " ^-luch helps 
much. Well, Cordelia, l)e gentle to-day; don't howl, 
don't quarrel. If your brothers and sisters do you some 
harm, you can tell me. If visitors come to see me, you 
must be polite, and make a courtesy. And, I tell you, 
do not stroll in the street. You may go in the sti'eet, if 
you please, but you must not always be there. And at 
table be polite, and don't cram the mouth too fuU. You 
can eat slowly, so nothing escapes you. If the strangers 
come, and you are polite, they will praise you, and say, 
' Truly, Cordelia is a very gentle lady.' How do you 
stay here? Can you not keep the head upright, like me ? 
You learn that awkward posture from the maid-servant. 
Mind it, you shall not go into her room again [here she 
struck the table with her fist], not once, I tell you. Yf)u 
will certainly turn such a dolt as she is. But the 
mother may consume her lungs, you still remain as you 
are. You did not remove the foul linen ; is it not so ? 
There ! But I will not rest myself until I make order ! " 
(Again a stroke on the table.) That is a specimen oi 
the sermons ]\Irs. Ursula used to preach, daily, to her 



Moral Culture. 268 



children. It is observed that the strongest medicine, by 
'degrees, loses its effects. Thus the sermons of Mrs. Ur- 
sula gradually fell upon heedless ears. They were re- 
peated too often. 

HOW TO RENDER CHILDREN WILLFUL. 
DO WHATEVER THEY DEMAND. 

Mr. Curt and his wife had lived ten years childless. 
Finally, to their joy, little Harry was born. His parents 
lielieved themselves obliged to do everHhing the dear 
child demanded. If he reached forth for something, it 
must be brought. They fetched him a dog and a cat, 
they let him taste everything, they passed him even a 
knife and fork, after having it sheathed. Three servant- 
girls were discharged because the child disliked them. 
Harry began now to walk, but not where the mother or 
servant would lead him, but where he pleased. Thus he 
wandered in an hour from the room, through the house, 
yard, garden, and from there again up all flights. On one 
occasion the cellar door was open. Harry wanted straight 
to enter, and as the servant restrained him he commenced 
terrible roaring. " Peace," said the girl, " the cellar is 
dark ; come, we will go to the chickens." But nothing 
availed. Harry cried and stamped. The anxious mother 
sprang near. " What is the matter ?" she asked. " Noth- 
ing, Mrs. Curt, only Harry will go into the cellar ; see 
how he behaves. To be sure, I cannot hold him more." 
" Let me have the child. Light the candle ! Keep still, 
Harry! You will go into the cellar? All right!" 
They went down into it, the maid going in front with the 
candle. In the midst of the descent, Harry took a 
fancy to return. He turned around ; mother and maid 



264 The Editcating Mother. 

turned, also, and returned into the room. If, at table, 
they helped him to something, he usually said, " I don't 
like this." "What, then, ray dear child?" "I want 
some of this piece." " Here, Harry, take it. You don't 
relish it, either ? For Avhat have you appetite ? " " For 
a pastry." " There is no pastry. Be satisfied ; to-mor- 
row I will bake a nice Kttle chicken." " But I Avant 
now pastry." " What must we do vnth the child ? 
Catherine, there is money ; get the child some pastry. Is 
it now right?" "Well, I am thirsty!" "The poor 
child ! Do you like beer or wine ? " "I like coffee." 
" Coffee is not ready. Quick, Catherine, kindle the fire for 
coffee ! Peace ! Peace ! " " Does coffee come soon ? " 
" Soon, soon." " I don't want coffee ; Avantbeer, mamma, 
beer." " Here is beer." " That's not my glass. I want my 
glass." "See hoAV smart the child is. He knoAVS, di- 
rectly, that it is not Ms glass. Here, Harry, here is your 
glass." Things continued so, as at table. Clothing, 
l^edroom, maid-serA^ants, companies, CA^erythiug had to ho 
selected according to his fancy. Noav he is groAvn up, 
and, generally, they call him " the willful Curt." He 
has changed residence many times ; he re-papers rooms 
every year ; he killed one Avife by tormenting her, and 
the other AAdll not live long. He engages every year 
four to six servants, and he, himself, Avill hardly live 
two years more. He is discontented Avith the Avhole 
Avorld, and therefore d3dng from vexation. 

TONY, THE SPOILED CHILD.* 

[Mr. Hardcastle, Mrs. Hardeastle. At the end of the scene, 
Tony, her son.^ 

*From Oliver Goldsmith's comedy, "She Stoops to Conquer." Act I, 
3cene I, 



Moral Culture. 265 

il/r.s. Hardcadle. 1 was but twenty when I was hrouglit 
to bed of Tony, that I had l)y ]V[r. Lumpkin, uiy first hus- 
band ; and he is not come to years of discretion, yet. 

Mr. Ilardcadlc. Nor ever will, I dare answer for him. 
Ay, you have taught him hnely ! 

Mrs. H. No matter, Tony Ijumpkiu has a, good fort- 
une. My son is not to live by his learning. I don't 
think a boy wants much learning, to spend fifteen hun- 
dred a year. 

Mr. 11. Learning, quotha ! a mere composition of 
tricks and mischief. 

Mrx. H. Humor, my dear, nothing but humor. Come, 
Mr. Ilardcastle, you must allow the boy a little humor. 

Mr. H. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burn- 
ing the footman's shoes, frightening the maids, and wor- 
rying the kittens, be humor, he has it. It was but yes- 
terday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair, and 
when I went to make a bow, I poi)ped my bald head in 
Mrs. Frizzle's face. 

il/j>'. H. And am I to blame? The poor boy was 
always too sickly to do any good. A school would be 
his death. When he comes to be ii little stronger, who 
knows Avhat a, year or two's Latin may do for him ? 

Mr. H. Latin for him ! A cat and fiddle ! No, no, 
the alehouse and the stable are the only schools he'll 
ever go to. 

Mrs. H. Well, we nuist not snub the poor boy now, 
for I believe we shan't have him long among us. Any- 
body that looks in his face may sec he's consumptive. 

Mr. H. Ay, if growing too fat be one of the symp- 
toms. 

3I'rs. H. He coughs, sometimes, 



266 The Educating IMother. 

Mr. H. Yes, when his liquor goes the wroug way. 

Mrs. H. I ajii actually afraid of his lungs. 

Mr. H. And, truly, so am I, for he sometimes whoops 
like a s]3eaking trumpet. [Tony hallooing behind the 
scenes]. Oh, there he goes, a very consumptive figure, 
truly. 

[Enter Tony, crossing the stage.] 

Mrs. H. Tony, where are you going, my charmer? 
Won't you give papa and I a little of your company, 
lovey ? 

Tony. I'm in haste, mother, I cannot stay. 

Mrs. H. You shan't venture out this raw evening, 
my dear, you look most shocking. 

T. I can't stay, I tell you. The Three Pigeons ex- 
pects me down every moment. There's some fun going 
forward. 

Mr. H. Ay, the alehouse, the old place. I thought so. 

Mrs. TI. A low, paltry set of fellows. 

T. Not so low, neither. There's Dick Muggins, the 
excise man ; Jack Slang, the horse doctor ; 'little Amin- 
adab, that grinds the music-box, and Tom Twist, that 
spins the pewter j^latter. 

Mrs. H. Pray, my dear, disapj)oiut them for one night, 
at least. 

T. As for disa]:)pointing them, I should not so much 
mind ; but I can't abide to disappoint myself 

Mrs. H. [detaining him] You shan't go. 

T. I will, I tell you. 

Mrs. H. I say you shan't. 

T. We'll see which is the strongest, you or I. 

[exit, hauling her out. 

Mr. H. [alone^ Ay, there goes a pair that only 
spoil each other. 



MoR.vi. Culture. 267 

THE UNGRATEFUI. CHILD. 

Madame Horner was tlie wile of Mr. Horuer, coiui- 
cillor of the Russian Court, whom Alexander I. had ap- 
]K)inted astronomer of an expl(«-ing expedition. She was 
the most beneficent hidy in Zurich. A long table in her 
room was, every year at Christmas, literally covered with 
presents for the hundreds of her godchildren. (She 
was also godniother of one of my sous.) On one of 
them, a poor boy, she lavished her benefits from the time 
of his birth till he was grown up. But he degenerated, 
and was vuigrateful. In a hot sunmier night, when the 
husband of Madame Horner was dead, and the widow 
lived alone in her house, she left a window open, and 
Avent to rest. At midnight the floor of the adjoining 
room crackled imder the footsteps of a man. She awoke 
by the sudden noise, aJid the man stood before her eyes, 
bending on her face. Think of the terror of the lady! 
She cried for help, and the servant-girl, who slept iji an- 
other room, hurried t(^ her assistance. Meanwhile, the 
scoundrel had escaped through the open window, where 
they found a ladder leaning against the wall. Madame 
Horner gave me the account of the accident herself 
And who was the burglar? The same man whom she 
had, since his childhood, so generously supported. He 
left Zurich immediately, and, after some time, was exe- 
cuted in Bern, with the guillotine, having there commit- 
ted robbery and murder. There is no meaner creature 
than an ungrateful child. 

HOW A BROTHER BECOMES A FATHER.* 

There were, in the Luxembourg garden, at Paris, two 

*Victor Hugo in " Les Miserables," ch . 241. 



268 The Educating Mother. 

lads, holding each others hand. One might be seven, 
the other five years of age. As they were wet through 
with the rain, they walked along sunshiny jjaths. The 
elder led the younger ; both were in rags, and pale, and 
they looked like wild birds. Th6ir wicked parents had 
deserted the poor children. The younger repeated every 
now and then, in a low voice, " I am hungry, very hun- 
gry." The elder, who had already a protecting aii*, led 
his brother with the left hand, and had a switch in his 
right. 

Almost simultaneously with the boys, another couple 
approached the basin, where two swans were swimming. 
It was a father with his son. The younger of tlie two 
had a cake in his hand. " I am not longer hungry," said 
the boy. " You need not be hungry to eat a cake," an- 
swered the father. " I am tired of cake. It is so filling." 
"Don't you want any more?" "N"o." "Throw it to 
those swans." The boy hesitated ; for if he did not want 
any more cake, that was no reason to give it away. The 
father continued : " Be humane ; you ought to have pity 
on animals." And, taking tlie cake from his son, he 
threw it into the basin, when it fell rather near the bank. 
He made signs to the swans, who were some distance off, 
and they came toward the cake slowly. 

At this moment the distant tumult of drums, shouts, 
])latoon fires, tocsin and cannon was heard. It was the 
alarm of the insurrection on the sixth of June, 1832. 
" Let us go home," the father said, " they are attacking 
the Tuileries." He seized his son's hand, and led him 
away. The two little vagabonds had, in the meanwhile, 
approached the cake simultaneously with the swans. It 
was floating on the water ; the small boy looked at the 



Moral Culture. 269 



cake, the otlier looked at the citizen who was going off. 
When father and son were no longer in sight, the elder 
boy lun-i'iedly lay down full length on the bank of the 
basin, and holding l)y his left hand, while bejiding o\'er 
the water till he all but fell in, he stretched out his switch 
toward the cake witli the other. The swans, seeing the 
enemy, hastened uj), and in liastening, made a chest effort, 
useful to the little fisher; the water flowed back in front 
of the swans, and one of the gentle, concentric .inidula- 
, tions gently impelled the cake toward the boy's switch. 
When the swans got up, the stick was touching the cake, 
and the lad gave a (juick blow, startled the swans, seized 
the cake, and got up. The cake was soaking, but they 
were hungry and thirsty. The elder boy divided the cake 
into two i)arts, a large and a small one, kept the small 
one foi" himself, and gave the hu'ger ])ieceto his In-other 



T WENT Y- NINTH LETTER. 

SEXUAL LOVE — CHOTCE OF A SPOUSE. 

I conclude my vie^vs on the culture of moral charac- 
ter with the last kind of love, the love of sex, or love 
in the proper sense of the word. Love puts "the fin- 
ishing touch " to man. He who can restrain his heart 
from its soft feelings, does not know the heaven of human 
life, and is also, for the most part, unworthy to \.\\o\y it. 
Therefore, a sensible mother is fiir from trying to jn-e- 
vent her children, in the years of sexual maturity, fntm 
love; her care is only to observe and lead it in a proper 
channel. ' 

For this end, dear friend, hinder the precocity, so 
common in our century, of the most beneficial im])ulse. 
Keep all its causes afar ; occasion and use whatever can 



270 Thio Educating Mother. 



lieli:) to impede it, in particular : liardeniug of the body, 
permanent occupation of tlie mind with useful objects, 
intercourse with moral persons of sober thinking, taming 
of the imagination, creation of noble, sublime feelings 
and of the sense of shame, moral culture, and continual 
observation of the pupil. In schools and seminaries the 
pasdonate friendships of youth require attention. 

If, then, the years of maturity, according to nature's' 
law, arrive, instruction should be given concerning the 
real and imaginary enjoyments of marriage, the conse- 
quences and disgrace of every tresj)ass on chastity, the 
importance and danger of violation of certain parts of 
the body, finally, the mysteiy of the creation of man. 
The father imparts this instruction to the sons, the mother 
to the daughters. It must be imparted with the serious 
aim to guard the welfare of the dear child from all 
emergencies. If now the moment appears in which the 
sweet charm of love captivates the innocent hearts, it 
must be to the parents of the greatest consequence to 
learn first the sweet secret of their children. Of course, 
the son will rather intrust it t(j the father, the daughter 
to the mother. The intercourse of the lovers, then, 
should be unconcealed ; the parents, especially the moth- 
ers, have to redouble their watchfulness. Don't suffer 
fi'ivolous dalliance with love's sacred nature! If the 
young people are in earnest with their feelings they will 
prove it by added diligence, by higher exertions for 
mental and moral culture, and by economical sense. Ac- 
quire, therefore, knowledge of the moral qualities of the 
person who is loved by your child ; observe him or her 
carefully ; make exact inquiries with regard to his or her 
relations of life. 



Moral Culture. 271 

If you ask me which considerations, in tlie selection 
of your chiklren-in-law, must direct you, I advise you, 
let not religious confession, rank, and riches decide it ; of 
most imjDortance are, morality, knowledge of a calling, 
sufficient living, and, above all, true lore. Where these 
conditions exist, grant your consent without hesitation. 
The yt>ung persons may i)erform their luiion ; their mar- 
riage is concluded in Heaven. Wedlocks of rank, diplo- 
matic, and speculative marriages are rarely hajjpy; a 
truth which, though so often in earnest and joke ex- 
pressed, is not the less so rarely minded. If you will 
not meddle uncalled for with the domestic affairs of 
the young married couple, you will yet be their welcome 
conductoi*s and advisei-s. By sucli a management the 
strong instinct of love will exert a benefieiaU influence 
upon the whole concern of education. Nature will fin- 
isli what you wisely commenced. In order to hinder the 
abuse of the sexual impulse, regard, especially, the hints 
which at the beginning of the letter were given. 



ILLUSTRATION. 

MARGARET, IN "FATSr."* 
SCENE XVI. 

'[MargareC'i garden. Margaret, Faust.'l 

FaiiM. Ah, shall there never be 

A quiet hour, to see us fondly plighted. 
With breast to breast, and soul to soul united ? 

Margaret. Ah, if I only slept alone ! 
I'd draw the bolts to-night, for thy desire. 
But mother's sleep so light has grown. 
And if we were discovered by her, 

*Faust, a tragedy by W. Goethe, translated by Bayard Taylor, Boston. 



272 The Educating Mother, 



'Twould be my death upon tlie spot. 

Faust. Thou angel, fear it not ! 
Here is a phial ; in her drink ^ 
But three drops of it measure, 
And deepest sleep will on her senses sink. 

Marg. What would I not, to give thee pleasure? 
It will not harm her, when one tries it? 

Fcmd. If 'twould, my love, would I advise it? 

Marg. Ah, dearest man, if but thy face I see, 
I know not what compels me to thy will ; 
So much have I already done for thee* 
That scarcely more is left me to fulfill. 

[exit. 

LAST SCENE. 

[Dungeon^ 

Fauftt. \_with a bunch of 1ceij>i and a lamp before an 
A shudder, long unfelt, comes o'er me ; [tron door 

Mankind's collected woe o'erwhelms me ; here 
She dwells within the dark, damj) walls before me, 
And all her crime was a delusion dear. 
What ! I delay to free her. 
On ! my shrinking but lingers death more near, 

[He grasps the lock, unloeidng^ 
She does not dream her lover listens neai". 
That he the rattling chain, the rustling straw, can hear. 
[He enters^ 

Marg. [hiding herself on the 2iallet\ 
Woe ! woe ! They come. O death of bitterness ! 

Faust. [-! V hisperin r/] 
Hush! hush! The hour is come that frees thee. 

Marg. [throwing herself before hini] 
Art thou a man, then pity my distress ! 

Faust. Thy cries will wake the guards, and they will 
seize thee ! 

[He takes hold of the fetters to unlock them.'] 

Marg. [on her knees\ 
Who, headsman, imto thee such power 



Moral Culture. 273 



Over me could give ? 

Thou'rt come foi' me at midnight liour : 

Have mercy on me, let mo live ! 

Is't not enough when morning cliime has rung ? 

[Slie rises.'] 
And I am yet so young, so young ! 
And now death comes, and ruin ! 
I, too, was fair, antl that was my undoing. 
My love was near, but now he's far. 
Torn lies the wreath, scattered the blossoms are. 
Seize me not thus so violently ! 
Spare me! What have I done to thee? 
Let me not vainly entreat thee ! 
I never chanced in all my days to meet thee! 

Fau.4. Shall I outlive this misery? 

Marg. Now am I wholly in thy might. 
But let me suckle, first, my baliy! 
I blessed it all this livelong night; 
They took't away, to vex me, may be. 
And now they say I killed the child outright. 
And never shall I be glad again. 
They sing songs about me! 'tis bad of the folk to do it! 

Faust. \_f(illui(j upon his knees] 
Here lieth one who loves thee ever. 
The thralldom of thy woe to sever. 

Manj. [_fii)i(jin(/ }ierse(f beside him.] 

let us kneel, and call the saints to hide us! 
Faust \_loud^. JNIargaret! Margaret! 
Marg. \jiUentively lidening] 

That was the voice of my lover ! 

[She springs to her feet, the fetters fall off.] 

1 am free! No one shall enthrall me. 
To his neck will I fly, 

(Jn his bosom lie! 

On the threshold he stood, and Margaret ! calling. 
Midst of hell's howling and noises appalling, 
IMidst of the wrathful, infernal derision, 
I knew the sweet sound of the voice of the vision. 
18 



274 The Educating Mother. 

Faust 'Tis I. 

Marg. 'Tis thou ! O, say it once again ! 
[ Clasjnng hini] 
'Tis he ! 'tis he ! Where now is all my pain ? 
The anguish of the dungeon, and the chain ? 
'Tis thou ! Thou comest to save me, 
And I am saved ! — 
Again the street I see 
Where first I looked on thee ; 
And the garden, brightly blooming, 
When I and Martha wait thy coming. 

Faust, [struggling to leave]. 
Come ! come with me ! 

3Iarg. Delay, thou ! 

So fain I stay, when thou delayest ! 
[Cares.nng hini] 

Faust. Away, now ! 
If longer here thou stayest, 
We shall be made to dearly rue it. 

Marg. Kiss me ! — can'st no longer do it ? 
My friend, so short a time thou'rt missing, 
And hast unlearned thy kissing? 
Why is my heart so anxious, on thy breast ? 
Where once a heaven thy glances did create me, 
A heaven thy loving words expressed, 
And thou did'st kiss, as thou would'st suffocate me — 
Kiss me ! 
Or I'll kiss thee ! 

[She embraces him^ 
Ah, woe ! thy lips are chill. 
And still. 

How changed in fashion 
Thy passion ! 
Who has done me this ? 

[She turns atvay from /wm.] 

Faust. Come, follow me ! My darling, be more bold ; 
I'll clasp thee, soon, with Avarnith a thousand-fold ; 
But follow now ! 'Tis all I beg of thee. 



Moral Culture. 275 



Manj. And is it thou? tliou, surely, certaiuly? 

Faust. 'Tis I ! Coiue on ! • 

Marg. Thou wilt unloose my chain, 
And in thy lap will take ine once again ? 
How comes it that thou dost not shrink from me ? 
Say, dost thou know, my friend, whom thou mak'st free ? 

Faust. Come! come! the night already vanisheth. 

Marg. My mother have I put to death ; 
I've drowned the baby born to thee. 
Was it not given to thee and me ? 
Thee, too ! 'Tis thou ! It scarcely true doth seem — 
Give me thy hand ! — But, ah, 'tis wet ! 
Why, wipe it off! Methinks that yet 
There's blood thereon. 
Ah, God ! what hast thou done?* 
Nay, sheathe thy sword at last ! 
Do not affray me ! 

Faust. O, let the past be past ! 
Thy words mil slay me ! 

Marg. Thou goest away! O, Henry, if I could go! 

[door. 

Faust. Thou canst ! Just will it ! Open stands tlie 

Marg. I dare not go ; tlicre is no hope any moi-e. 
Why should I fly? They'll still my steps waylay! 
It is so wretched, forced to beg my living. 
And a bad conscience sharper misery giving ! 
It is so wretclied, to be strange, forsaken, 
And I'd still be followed and taken ! 

Faust. I'll stay with thee. 

Marg. Be quick ! be (juick ! 
Save thy perishing cliild ! 
Away ! Follow the ridge 
Up by the brook. 
Over the liridge. 
Into the wood, 
To the left, where the plank is placed 

*Faust killed, in a brawl, Margaret's brother. 



276 The Educating Mother, 

In the jDOol ! 
Seize it in hast%' 
'Tis trying to rise, 
'Tis struggling still ! 
Save it ! save it ! 

Faust. Recall thy wandering will ! 
One step, and thou art free at last ! — 
Here words and prayers are nothing worth ; 
I'll venture, then, to bear thee forth. 

Marg. No — let me go ! I'll suffer no force ! 
Grasp me not so murderously ! 
I've done, else, all things for the love of thee. 

Faust. The day dawns ; dearest ! dearest ! 

[for me ! 

Marg. Day ? Yes, the day comes, — the last day breaks 
My wedding day it was to be ! 
Tell no one thou hast been with Margaret ! 
Woe for my garland ! The chances 
Are over — 'tis all in vain ! 
We shall meet once again, 
But not at tlie dances ! 
The crowd is thronging, no word is spoken: 
The square below 
And the streets overflow ; 
The death-bell tolls, the wand is broken. 
I am seized, and bound, and delivered — 
Shoved to the block — they give tlie sign ! 
Now over each neck has quivered 
The blade that is quivering over mine ; 
Dumb lies the Avorld like the grave ! 

Faust. O had I ne'er been born ! 
3fephistopheles. [cippears outside] 
Off! or you're lost ere morn. 
Useless talking, delaying and praying ! 
My horses are neighing; 
The morning twilight is near. 

Marg. What rises up from the threshold here ? 
He ! he ! s«ffer him not ! ^ 



Moral Culture. 277 

What does he want in this holy spot ? 
He seeks nic ! 

Faust. Thou shalt live. 

Marg. Judgment of God ! myself, to thee, I give. 

Mephid. \to Famf] 
Come ! or I'll leave her in the lureh, aud thee ! 

Marg. Thine am I, father ! rescue me ! 
Ye angels, holy cohorts, guard me, 
Camp around, and from evil ward mc ! 
Henry ! I shudder to think of thee. 

Mephid. She is judged! 

Voice, [from ahove\ 

She is saved ! 

Mephid. [to Famt\ Hither to me ! 

[He disappears with Faiist.'\ 

Voice, [from loithin, dyiiirj awatj] 
Henry! Heury! 

[thi: end.] 

THE BETKOTUMENT. * 

Here the door was oi)en'd. The handsome couple ap- 

pear'd there, 
And the friends Avere amazed, the loving jifirents aston- 

ish'd 
xVt the form of the bride, the form of the bridegroom 

resembling. 
Yes ! the door api^ear'd too small to admit the tall figures 
Which now cross'd the threshold, in company walking to- 
gether. 
To his parents Hermann presented her, hastily saying: — 
" Here is a maiden just of the sort you are wishing to 

have her. 
Welcome her kindly, dear father ! she fully deserves it, 

and you, too. 
Mother dear, ask her questions as to her housekeeping 

knowledge, 



Goethe, " Hennanii and Dorothea," ninth canto. Translated by E, A. 
Bowling', Loudon. 



278 The Educating Mother. 

That you may see liow well she deserves to form one of 

our party." 
But the maiden's soul was, unhappily, troubled already, 
By the talk of the father, who just had address'd her as 

follows, 
Speaking good-humor'dly, and in accents pleasant and 

lively : — 
" Yes, I'm well satisfied, child ! I joyfully see that 

my son has 
Just as good taste as his father, who in his younger days 

show'd it, 
xVlways leading the fairest one out in the dance, and 

then lastly 
Taking the fairest one home as his wife — 'twas your dear 

- little mother ! 
But you need'd surely but a short time to form your de- 
cision. 
For I verily think it is to follow him easy." 
Hermann but partially heard the words ; the whole of 

his members 
Inwardly quiver'd, and all the circle were suddenly silent. 
But the excellent maiden, by words of such irony 

wounded 
(As she esteemed them to be), and deeply distress'd in 

her sjiirit, 
Stood, while a passing flush from her cheeks as far as 

her neck was 
Spreading ; but she restrain'd herself, and collected her 

thoughts soon ; 
Then to the old man she said, not fully concealing her 

sorrow : — 
" Truly I was not prepared by your son for such a re- 
ception, 
When he described his father's nature, — that excellent 

burgher,^ 
But it Avould seem that you feel not pity enough for the 

pool" thing 
Who has just cross'd your threshold, prepared to enter 

yoiu" service ; 



Moral Culture. 279 

Else you Avould not seek to poiut out, with ridicule bitter, 
How far removed my lot from your son's aud that of 

yourself is. 
True, with a little huudle, and [)uor, I have enter'd your 

dwelling, 
"Which is the owner's delight to furnish with all things. 
But I know myself well, and feel the whole situation. 
Is it generous thus to greet me with language so jeering. 
Which has ^vell uigh expell'd me the house, when just 

on the threshold ? 
Yes, the father's jest has wounded me deeply, I own it, 
Not that I am proud and touchy, as ill becometh a 

servant. 
But because in truth in my heart a feehng has risen 
For the youth, who to-day has fill'd the part of my 

saviour ; 
For when first in the road he left me, his image remained 

still 
Firmly fixed in my mind ; and I thought of the fortunate 

maiden 
AVhom, as his betroth'd one, he cherish'd, perchance, in 

his bosom. 
And when I found him again at the well, the sight of 

him charm'd me, 
Just as if I had seen an angel descending from heaven. 
And I foUow'd him willingly, when as a servant he 

sought me ; 
But by my heart in truth Iwas flatter'd (I need must 

confess it) 
As I hitherward came, that I might possibly win him. 
If I became in the house an indispensable pillar. 
But, alas ! I now see the dangers I well nigh fell into, 
When I bethought me of living so near a silently loved 

one. 
Now for the first time I feel how far removed a poor 

maiden 
Is from a richer youth, however clever she may be. 
But not more of the subject! I now must tarry no 

longer 



280 The Educating Mother. 



In this house, where I now am standing in pain and con- 
fusion, 

All my foolish hopes and my feelings freely confessing. 

jSTot the night which, with sinking clouds, is spreading 
around us. 

Not the rolling thunder (I hear it already) shall stop me, 

Not the falling rain, which outside is descending in tor- 
rents, 

Not the blustering storm. 

So, farewell ! I'll tarry no longer. My fate is accom- 
pHshed ! " 

Thus she spoke, and towards the door she hastily turn'd 
her. 

Holding under her arm the bundle she brought when 
arriving. 

But the mother seized by both of her arms the fair 
maiden. 

Clasping her round the body, and cried with surprise 
and amazement; — 

"Say, what signifies tliis? These fruitless tears, what 
denote they? 

No, I'll not leave you alone ! You're surely my dear 
son's betroth'd one." 

Hermann then stepp'd forward, and gently address'd her 
as follows : — 

" Do not repent of your tears, nor yet of your passing 
affliction ; 

For they perfect my happiness ; yours too, as I A^dsh it. 

I came not to the fountain to hire so noble a maiden 

As a servant, I came to win your afiections. 

But, alas ! my timid gaze had not strength to discover 

Your heart's leanings ; it saw in your eye but a friendly 
expression. 

Merely to bring you home, made half of my happiness 
certain ; 

But you now make it complete ! May every blessing be 
yours, then ! " 

Then the maiden look'd on the youth with heart-felt emo- 
tion, 



Moral Culture. 281 



And avoided not kiss iioi* embrace, the summit of rapture, 

When they also arc to the loving, the long wish'd for 
pledges 

Of apjH'oaching liliss iu a life which now seems to them 
endless. 

But tlie maiden came, and grat-cfally l)cut o'er the father. 

Kissing the while his hand, which he to draw back at- 
temjited. 

And she said: "I am sure that you will forgive the sur- 
prised one, 

First for her tears of sorrow, and then for her tears of 
true rapture, 

Ola, forgive the emotions by which they both liave ])een 
jirompted ; 

And let me fully enjoy the liliss that has now been 
vouchsafed me ! 

Let the first vexation, Vvhich my confusion gave rise to, 

Also be the last ! The loving service which lately 

Was liy the servant promised, shall iiow by the daughter 
be reuder'd." 

And the father, his tears concealing, straightway em- 
braced her; 

Lovingly came the mother in turn, and heartily kiss'd 
her, 

Warmly shaking the hand, and silently wept they to- 
gether. 

Then in a hasty manner the good and sensible pastor 

Seized the hand of the father, his wedding-ring off from 
his finger 

Drawing (not easily though, so plump was the member 
that held it); 

Then he took the mother's ring, and betroth'd the two 
children, 

Saying : " Once more may it be these golden hoops' des- 
tination, 

Firmly to fasten a bond altogether resembling the old 
one! 

For this youth is deeply imbued with love for the maiden, 



282 ■ The EDUOATiNrx IiIother. 

And the maicleu confesses tliat she for the youth has a 
Hking ; 

Therefore, I now betroth you, and Avish you all blessings 
hereafter, 

With the jiarents' consent, and with our friend here as 
witness." 

And the neighbor bent forward, and added his own bene- 
diction. 

THE WEDDING.* 

Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple and 

scarlet, 
Issued the sun, the great high priest, in his garments resplend- 
ent. 
Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his forehead, 
Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and pomegranates. 
Blessing the world he came, and the liars of vajjor beneath him 
Gleamed like a grate of brass, and tho sea at his feet was alaver! 
This Avas the wedding morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden. 
Friends were assembled together ; the Elder and Magistrate also 
Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law 

and the Gospel, 
One with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of 

heaven. 
Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and of Boaz. 
Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal 
Taking each other for hiisband and wife in the Magistrate's 

presence. 
After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland. 
Fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth 
Prayed for the hearth and the home that were founded that day 

in affection. 
Speaking of life and of death and imploring divine benedictions. 
* * * ■ * * « * 

Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the bride 
at the doorway, 

Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning. 

Touched witli autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine, 

Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation ; 

There were the graves of the dead, and the barren waste of the 
sea-shore, 

There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows ; 

But to their eyes transfigured, it seemecl as the Garden of Eden, 

Filled with tlie j)resence of God, whose voice was the sound of 
the ocean. 

Soon was their vision disturbed Ity the noise and stir of depart- 
ure, 

■"From H. W. Longfellow's poem, " Miles Standish." 



Moral Culttirk. 283 

Fiiends coming forth from the house, and impatient of loiif^cr 

delaying, 
Each with his plan for the day, and the work that s left un- 
completed. ^ 
Then from a stall near at hand, amid cxclamafTOns of wonder, 
Alden, the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscdla, 
Brought out his snow-whito bull, obeying the hand of its master, 
Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils. 
Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion ijlaccd for a saddle. 
She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the 
noonday ; , • , 4. 
Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant. 
Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others. 
Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her hus- 
band, 
Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her paltrey. 
"Nothing is wanting now," he said with a smile, " but the dis- 
taff ;° 
Then you woitld be in truth my queen, my beautiful Bertha! 
Onward the Ijridal procession now moved to their new habitation, 
Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. 
Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the ford in the 

forest, 
Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love, through 

its bosom, 
Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the azure abysses. 
Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his .splen- 
dors. 
Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches aljove them sus- 
pended. 
Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine ami the 

lir-tree, . 

Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of ihs- 

cliol. 
Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages, 
Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and 

Old, and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, 
Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers. 
So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal pro- 



THIRTIETH LETTER. 

ON THE CHOICE OF A CALLING. 

He who is not amply endowed wtli riches must look to 
some calling for the means of living-. Kings, too, can he- 



284 The Educating Mother. 

come beggars. As hands are given to every man in or- 
der to work, and as every citizen is obliged to contribute 
for tlie welfare^f his country, nobody can dispense with 
the choice of a calling, nor with the preparation for it. 
The only question is this : For what calling ought we to 
design our children, especially our sons ? First, let us 
beware to urge a calling upon them ; not we, but they 
themselves have to select it, for theij must pass their lives 
in it. Children have not seldom cursed their parents for 
having forced a calKng upon them. Since it is the ques- 
tion to provide the necessary livelihood of the pupil, it 
is more advisable to designate him for a lower position, 
but oue which supports a man, than for a high one in 
which he runs a risk to one day starve. 

The vocation ought to he a useful one, even if it be 
not called honorable. If it only be so (and it is so when 
it is useful to Uie community), no matter, let your chil- 
dren enter it ! , 

In choosing a vocation the talents and the disposition 
of the child are also to bo considered, e. g., a simpleton 
is not fit for a scholar. Unnatural professions ought not 
at all to be taken in consideration of the choice, as, e. g., 
those of Catholic priests, monks, and nuns who have to 
pass their lives in dark monasteries and convents, which 
the distinguished poet, Bulwer Lytton, fitly calls " graves 
of humanities, where hearts congeal to ice, with everlast- 
ing winter."* 

The education for a definite vocation should begin 
early. An ancient philosopher says: "Everyone who 
should become a great man, in a department of culture, 



Kiclielieu, Act V.. Scene H 



Moral Culture. 285 



must be trained for it from ii child." The pupil should 
acquire the knowledge of the callino; upon \vhich he has 
decided in an eminent dei^'ee; do not permit mediocrity 
therein ; for this raises neither to prosperity, nor to honor. 
Hard w Ji'king, diligence for year.s in those particular de- 
partments necessary for the knowledge of the future call- 
ing, is the task of the pupil. 

But whatever l)e the calling your children choose, two 
objects are always necessary, viz., moral culture and in- 
struction in such branches of learning as generally in 
life is required. Educate them to be virtuous and use- 
ful, of sound intellect, supplied with the knowledge in- 
dispensable to any well-brought-U[) man ; then they may 
follow a vocation lower than the paternal one ; it will be 
neither a harm to the child nor a disgrace to you. 



ITjLUSTRA TfONS. 

THE INSANK PRIEST. 

John S. was the only s(tn of a Avealthy farmer in 
Moravia. His mother was very fond of him, and de- 
sii'ed him to become a priest. Though he felt no incli- 
nation to put ou the cassock, he obeyed a mother's request. 
First she sent him to tlie gynmasium, where he had to 
study Latin, Greek and Hebrew. As he had no good 
talents, he was a poor student; but by dint of })resents, 
spent by the jiarents to the professors, he went through 
this institution, and began then to study theology. But 
he was not a matcdi to the difficulties of this science, and, 
in a word, nmst resign the purpose to become a secular 
priest. Still the mother wanted to see him saying the 
mass. Consequently she tried to place him in a convent. 
First he attempted to become a Jesuit. The reverend 



286 The Educating Mother. 

fathers tried him severely. They mortified him by fasting, 
prayer^, vigils, confessions, etc. In order to habituate 
him to obedience and humility, he must, like a dog, 
couch on the floor, and the fathers jumped over his 
body. That was too much for his brain ; it commenced 
to reel. He left the order, and tried the Carmelites. 
They received him; he finished, in the convent, his 
studies, and was consecrated a priest. His mother saw him 
say the mass, and felt happy, but he felt miserable. Tlie 
yoke of celibacy crushed liis mind. His melancholy in- 
creased, and to tell it in a word, after some time he became 
insane, and was put into the convent of the brothers of-* 
charity, who had to su2:)erintend him, and, if possible, to 
heal his mind. In this condition I met him again. He 
wished to go to his convent brethren. I got permission to 
cfjnduct him to their monastery. I took a carriage. But 
on the road we were met with soldiers wlio passed by. See- 
ing them he cried out : " They catch me, they catch me, 
help ! help ! " I consigned him to his prioi", who returned 
him to the brothers of charity; but they did not succeed 
in curing him ; he continued a maniac ! 

HOW HE FOOND HIS CALLINO.* 

" I said I was satisfied to remain on the old j^lace, and 
I thought I was," mused Ned Ross, one day ; " but 
although glad to get home after the rough treatment 
received in the city that time, still I am not content to live 
on this old farm. I cannot help my feelings. How I 
woidd delight to build boats for a living." And he surveyed 
the little specimen of a boat that he was fashioning with 
a jack-knife witli much satisfaction. Just then Clifibrd 

*From Miss Susan Wixon's pojiular book, Apples of Gold." 



Moral. Culture. 287 



Wellesby came along, and leaning over the stone wall, 
looked at the work npon • which Xed was engaged so 
eai'nestly, while a curions smile illumined his handsome 
features. 

" IVIaking a boat, eh ! For what i:)urpose, if I may 
incjuire ? " 

" Oh ! nothing — not much — only for fun, you know," 
answered Ned, boy-like. 

" But that's well made, Ned ! I wish you'd give it to 
me, will you ? " 

" Oh ! yiiu may have it and welcome ; T can make 
another, and an improvement on this." 

"Come, Ned, the tlu'eshing machine is anxious to 
renew your accjuaintance, and you'd better leave your 
boat l)uilding and come up to the barn,'' said Ned's 
father, coming up to where the lad was at work. 

" One word with you, INIr. Ross, if you can spare me a 
UKjuient or two," and Mr. Wellesby leaped over the wall. 

" No time now, sir. Come around this evening after 
supper, and I'll hear you," and Mr. Ross moved quickly 
away in the direction of liis large and well-stocked barn. 

That evening, as Mr. Ross was sitting under a pear tree 
in his back yard smoking his favorite pipe, and congratu- 
lating himself on the excellent crops of the season, 
Clifford Wellesby approached, and taking a seat on a 
rustic; bench near by, after a few preliminar}' remarks 
on the weather, the favorable prospects of trade, and 
other minor matters, inquired of ]\Ir. Ross if he liked 
the business of farming. 

" Like it ! why, 'tis the business." 

" It is just the occupation you would choose, is it, if 
left to yourself? " 



288 The Educating Mother. 



"I did not choose it. I liked it from ahoy ; in fact, I 
believe I was a born farmer-^couldn't get used to any- 
thing else if I tried." 

"And do you propose that Ned shall be a farmer, 
too?" 

" Well, yes. It's the best thing he can do. He got a 
little discontented here, a spell ago, went down to the 
city to get a job, but was glad enough to get back again, 
I tell you. Yes, I think Ned will work into a good 
farmer, by and by, though it is true he does not appear 
to have much aptitude for the business, now." 

" That is true, as I have observed, Mr. Ross ; and let 
me say you will do your son one of the greatest wrongs 
a father can do a child if you compel him to do farm- 
work against his will and inclination. Look here, Mr. 
Ross," he continued, producing the little boat," this is the 
handiwork of your son — a small thing, but it tells con- 
clusively, in my opinion, the bent and wish of your boy. 
Look at those curves, the rude, but handsome workman- 
ship. It shows genius, mechanical skill and ingenuity, 
which will never show in work for which one has no taste. 
But give the lad a chance at what he likes and takes an 
interest in, and he will develop a talent you did not 
dream he possessed." 

" By what right, sir, do you presume to dictate as to the 
future business of my son ? " and Mr. Ross spoke with 
some show of feeling. "I would have you understand, 
sir, that my motto is, 'Let well enough alone.'" 

" I do not presume to dictate anything, Mr. Ross, only 
I have lieen some time occu[)ied upon the jjroblem of why 
there are so many unemployed men about. There are 
various reasons, no doubt, but ©ne is that there are very 



Moral Culture. 2<S0 



many men unskilled workmen in the land, luiskilled 
because they have adopted professions for which they 
have no taste or liking. Let me give you a scrap of my 
own history and it may not be uninteresting." 

" Go on." 

Wellesby now related how he was pushed, against his 
wishes, at the age of sixteen, into a dry goods house, 
where one hundred and twenty-five men and youths were 
employed ; that he loathed his daily servitude, but found 
a vent against it in the theater, the concert, and the 
saloon; that after two and a half years of misery he 
came home — ^graduated; that then, without a trade, 
business, or ]irofession, he became, for many years, a 
Avanderer on the sea and on the land, living from hand 
to mouth, and finally concluded his narration with these 
words : " I have told you what I have, that you may, 
perhaps, consult the taste of your son, somewhat, in 
choosing his life business. You nmst excuse me if I 
have taken an undue interest in his future welfiire. It is 
because my own youth was wrecked that I would have 
him and all others escape the rocks and shoals whereon 
I foundered. Good-evening ! " 

" Good-evening, sir, and I hope you will call again." 

It was late that night before Mr. Ross slept, and the 
next day he was very thoughtful and quiet all day, but 
none knew the subject of his thoughts. A Aveek later 
he and Ned might have been seen in a seaport town, 
talking with a well-known ship builder, and when Mi". 
Ross Avent home Ned was left behind. 

This occurred some years ago. To-day, you may find 
among the most intelligent contractors a smart and ener- 
getic young man who has risen from the lowest step in 
19 



290 The Educatin(} Mother. 

liis profession to the* liighest. Builder, architect, con- 
tractor, he is carrying on a large and extensive lousiness. 
Widely known, and respected by all who know him, his 
name is a synonym for skill, intelligence, and honesty. 
When he has time and inclination, he tells how he found 
his calling, the work that he loves, and succeeds in it 
because he loves it. 



CONCLUSION OF THE LETTERS. 
Now, dear friend, we have reached the end of our 
general researches on education. If you mil apply their 
results to your family, you will bring up no wondrous 
children, no angels, still noble-minded, healthful, intelli- 
gent, happy men who owe you their heaven. Such 
children are always the greatest blessing of heaven. 
Don Carlos says truly in Schiller's drama :* 

"How sweet, how glorious is it, hand in hand -' 
With a dear child, in inmost sonl beloved, 
To tread once more the rosy paths of youth, 
And dream life's fond ilhisions o'er again! 
How proud to live through endless centuries. 
Immortal in the virtues of a son ! 
How sweet to plant what his dear hand shall reap; 
To gather what will yield him rich return. 
And guess how high his thanks will one day rise." 



SUPPLEMENT. 

LITTLE ORIGINAL NARRATIVES FOR THE FIRST CULTURE OF 
MIND AND INTELLECT OF CHILDREN, ALSO ADAPTABLE FOR 
THE FIRST READING. 

MORAL NARRATIVES. 

A father •was used to Avrite down the little events in 
his family. Here the report of some ones follows : — 

" Don Carloo,'' Act II, Scene II. 



MORAI. CUT.TIIRE. 2f)l 

1. The father was sitthiu" at the cradle of little 
Rodolph reading and rocking. Now the l)oy turned 
his head, looked at the father, and smiled. Rodolph 
Avas then three months old. 

2. The father returned from the city and brought 
Rosa a little basket, sajdng: "There, dear child, the 
little basket is yours ; I give it you as a reward for your 
diligence. Rosa rejoiced much of the nice little basket. 

3. " A worm, a worm ! " cried Rosa, as she went down- 
stairs, and saw a large caterpillar creeping along the 
wall. The father seized the insect, showed it to the child, 
and said: "This animal cannot hui't you, for it is so 
small and helpless." He threw it aside, and the insect 
crawled farther. 

4. A he goat wanted to hit little Rosa witli liis horns; 
tlien her courageous brother, Harry, seized a stick, and 
struck his beard. The goat bleated and ran off. Rosa 
now said, " Thanks to you, dear brother, for having kept off 
the ugly animal," and she kissed him. 

5. Henry came to his mother and said, " Dear 
mamma, I i^ray you give me some cherries." The 
mother replied, " My dear child, I have none now, but 
when the cherry-seller comes I ^vill buy some of the 
fruit for you." Henry was satisfied and went away. 
After an hour he came running and cried, while yet ujjon 
the stairs: "Mamma, manuna! the woman with the 
cherries ! " The woman came. She had a large basket full 
of red, fresh cherries. The mother bought some and 
gave the children their shares iu their aprons. The 
children sat down together upon the threshold, and ate 
their cherries cheerfully. They ate also bread mth the 
fruit. 



292 The Educating Mother. 

6. The father was splitting stove-wood. When he had 
done, Rosa carried the wood, without being ordered to do 
so, off into the kitchen. Therefore, the father gave her 
a bunch of fine, black grapes. The girl put it at her 
side on the table, sat down upon the footstool, and rocked 
her little brother with her foot. She did not eat the 
grapes, but took her picture-book into her hand and 
turned over the leaves, looking at the i^retty pictures; 
then she learned to read from the father. Not before the 
end of an hour did she taste some berries of the grape 
cluster. Rosa was, at that time, yet very young. 

7. " There, dear Harry, to-day, you eat from my bowl ! " 
saying so Rodolph shoved his bowl near to his brother, 
for it was new and nicely painted, and Hariy liked it. 

8. It was spring-time when Rosa found a strawberry. 
Immediately she ran with it to her father, and cried : 
" Father, dear, I bring you some good thing ; look, the 
first strawberry I have found this sj)ring." The father 
answered: " I thank you, my dear child, for your good- 
will ; but keep the herrj for yourself " Saying this he 
kissed the daughter and returned her the strawberry. 
He told also the mother what Rosa had done, and the 
mother praised the good child. 

9. Rosa also learned to know many flowers. She 
knew the heart's-ease, the violet, the lilies, the ground-ivy, 
the shepherd's-bag, the dafibdily, the gilly-flowers, tlie 
yellow and red primrose, the marsh marigold, some speciei* 
of orchis and gentian, the renonculi, the pansy, the dan- 
delion, the goat's-beard, the tulips, the evergreen, and 
many others. Whenever she found a new plant, she 
Ijrought it to her father, and asked him its name. While 
he collected plants, she helped him, and brought for him 
many a rare plant home. 



Moral Culture. 29J 



10. Rosa was sensible of the charms of nature. On 

one occasion, when snow and ice disappeared from the 

fields, she and Harry were in the yard, enjoying the 

warm and bright sunshine. Now Rosa, seizing Harry's 

hand, exclaimed, — 

" wondrous channiuy is this earth, 
Autl worthy to rejoice in it! 
Therefore I will, till I turn ashes, 
Be joyful in this beautiful world." * 

The mother heard her words, and rejoiced in the affec- 
tionate children. 

11. Rosa was not quite two years old when she Avonld 
sit by the hour, at the cradle of her baby brother, rock- 
ing him, unweariedly. Sometimes, during this monoto- 
nous period, she would fall asleep herself, and her little 
head, with the light hair, resting upon the coverlet of her 
brother, made a charming 2)icture. 

12. Rosa learned diligently in her i^rimcr. On one 
occasion she reminded her father still in the evening that 
ho had not taught her that day. The father said, " To- 
morrow I will teach you again, for now it is night ; any- 
how, you must be sleepy; supper will also presently be 
ready." But the child began to cry, because she should 
not more learn. Sup2>er was served up, and they were 
eating. After supper the mother said, " Children, now 
go to bed!" She undressed Harry. But Rosa said, 
" INIamma, let me still stay up, I will still learn." She was, 
indeed, learuiug with liveliness and joy; meanwhile 
her brother slept already a long \vhile. 

13. Harry lay, sick from fever, in l)ed ; his head was 
red-hot. Rosa approached his bed, bent her head upon 

* Hoelty's poem, " Encouragement to Ilcjoico." 



294 The Educating Mother. 

Jiis pillow, clasped her arm around tlie neck of the sick 
brother aud wejDt. Next day Harry was liut a little hot ; 
he was able even to rise from bed. Rosa hurried for a 
chair, lirought it to liirn and said, " Here, dear Harry, 
sit down." She placed, then, his little plate before him, 
put the spoon beside, and helped him quick to his meal. 
Rosa did all this because she was glad that her brother 
had recovered. 

14. Harry fell once more sick from fever ; he was for six 
weeks confined to bed. At one time he was red-hot, at 
another he became chilled all over the body ; this was 
an intermittent fever. The parents were sorrowful for 
him, and trembled for his life. The mother secretly 
shed many tears ; she arose many a night ten times aud 
more, and watched the sick child. Harry was, before 
the disease, predisposed to willfulness, but now he was 
soft and patient, took without complaint the most bitter 
medicines and asked for them, sometimes, himself At 
last he grew convalescent, and the father often brought 
him flowers from the field ; they caused him much pleas- 
ure. As he got up again, he was pale and meager ; his 
little feet trembled. Harry since was softer and more 
quiet. . 

15. Rosa's brother had died, after his parents had en- 
joyed him only three days. The mother wept much ; but 
the father said : " Don't cry, mother, dear, to die is the 
natural fate of humanity. Other parents experience the 
same misfortune. Most of the children die in the first 
years of life. Fred [that was the name of the new-born 
child] will forever live in our memory. We have still 
three other lovely children, we Avill cling to these so 
much closer." The corpse was put into a little frame 



Moral Culture. 295 

built of five boards, and the children were not at all 
afraid of the little dead brother; they adorned his pale 
face with a wreath of flowers. After three days his little 
body was carried off and buried. If Harry would speak 
of Freddy, Rosa closed his mouth, saying, " Do you not 
see that mamma is crying when you speak of him?" 
And nature gave the mourning parents another son, 
whom they named after the dead one ; he thrived and 
grew up vigorously. Then the parents forgot by little 
and little their grief for the lost child. 

16. Harry and Rosa Avere sitting in the meadow under 
a tree ; Rosa carried a satchel in wliicli were two pieces of 
bread and two apples. Mother had them given to the 
children. As they were going to breakfast a blind man 
passed by, whom a boy was leading. He asked the chil- 
dren for some alms. They gave him, instantly, their 
bread, and Rosa asked : " Poor man, do you like an apple 
also? Here, take this ! " And she passed him her apple. 
Harry would not give up his apple, but was crying. 
Rosa exhorted him: "Be ashamed! Wc receive every 
day apples fi'om our mother, and the poor man here has 
none and he is blind." Harry no longer refused. Rosa 
reached into her pocket and drew out a shilling ; she gave 
it to the blind man; she had received it herself as a 
present. Now the children returned to the parents and 
told them all that had happened, and the parents jiraised 
the children. 

17. Rosa had another brother whose name was Arnold. 
On the feast of carnival some rough boys of the village 
suddenly entered the room, masked and disguised, and 
uttered strange howls. Arnold was much frightened, 
cried, and anxiously hid himself behind his mother. The 



296 The Educating Mother. 

parents blamed the young fellows severely, but Arnold 
for a long time feared every mask and was frightened at 
any occasion even of little importance. Such rude car- 
nival pranks ought not to be permitted. 

18. "Rodolph," said the mother, "go Avith Rosa and 
don't stray alone." However Rodoljih did not stay with 
his sister, but mingled with other boys who were playing. 
One of them hit Rodolph with a stone; his eye Avas 
bleeding and he ran cr3dng home. The father conducted 
his boy to the father of him who had thrown the stone. 
This had to undergo a punishment indeed, but Rodolph 
got a blue eye. Children ought to obey their parents. 

19. Rosa and Harry had studied diligently. In the af- 
ternoon their father said, " Come, children, Ave Avill have a 
sail on the lake." They flew for their hats and off they 
Avent to the lake. Harry soon got tired, for he Avas still 
small. Tlie father took him in his arms and carried him 
along. So they arrived at the lake. There they picked 
first seA^eral flowers and Rosa Avound a pretty Avreath for 
her mother. 

A blue dragon-fly fluttered along the shore; Harry 
tried to catch it, but in vain ; then the father Avent and 
caught it for him. The boy exclaimed, " What a pretty 
bird ! " The father said : " That is no bird, but an insect 
[which Avord means an animal with notches or links] ; do 
you see here the notches in the midst of its slender body ? 
It belongs to the net-winged insects, for its blue-veined 
Avings resemble a net." After the children had attent- 
ively viewed the insect, the father let it fly again. Then 
they Avent on board of the boat, and the father rowed 
into the midst of tlie lake; the AvaA^es Avere so clear and 
bright ; the sky above them smiled so serenely ; the boat 



Moral Culture. 297 

rocked them 8o softly on the waves ; lierc and there a 
little fish splashed in the water; the children shouted 
aloud Avith joy. "Papa!" cried Rosa, "see the beauti- 
fiil yellow and white flowers in the midst of the water ! " 
"Those are water-lilies; will you look at them close by?" 
The children wished to do so, and tlie father steered the 
boat into the midst of the fine lotus flowers. They 
picked some and j)ut them in the skiff. Then the father 
let down a net into the water, and see ! when he withdrew 
it, three car]) \vriggled within. The fish caused the chil- 
dren nuich pleasure. In this way they amused them- 
selves on the lake, till it grew twilight ; then they returned 
home. The fish were fried ; the children liked them well. 
They had not forgotten the \vreath and the water-lilies 
either. Their mother was much pleased with the wreath. 

20. " Children," the mother said, " if you are diligent, 
you arc allowed to make the father s(jmc present." The 
birthday of the father came ; the mother sent the chil- 
dren to the field in order to gather fine flowers, and she 
wou)id for Harry a nice wreath, and for Rosa a bouquet. 
AltQY this slie dressed the children in their holiday gar- 
ments; they went into the room of their father, and 
ofiered him their ^jresents. The father took them, kissed 
the children, thanked the mother, and told her to cook 
for the children their favorite dish. The children were 
happy. 

21. When the mother died, she left nine children^ of 
whom the youngest wa.s two years and five months old. 
The age of Rosa was, then, seventeen years and four 
mouths. She was a well-educated young lady, able to read 
and speak French, an excellent seamstress, a good cook, 
and a kind-hearted maiden. Everybody respectetl and 



298 The Educating Mother. 

loved her. But alas ! she was sickly. For four years she 
had been suffering much pain. The physicians could not 
restore her to health ; all the medicines which they gave 
her were but palliative, relieving her pains, but not heal- 
ing her entirely. During one winter she was continually 
bedridden, and when she was able to rise again, one leg 
had much shortened ; she was almost lame. After the 
death of the mother the father engaged a servant-girl, 
who did not behave to his satisfaction. Neither Avas 
Rosa satisfied with her. The girl was discharged, and 
the father wished to get another one. But Rosa objected, 
offering her o^vn services instead. The father was doubt- 
ful, she insisted ; finally he consented in order to try her 
plan. Things went on smoothly. Rosa carried on the 
housework mostly alone, she did the cooking, sewing, etc., 
and took care of her younger brothers. 

After eight months she fell sick from a nervous fever, to 
which she succumbed. She was only fourteen days sick. 
When she had deceased, her skull was dissected, and the 
physician found her brain entirely sui:)purated. She 
could live no longer more. Nature relieved her from her 
suffering. The whole community followed her to her 
grave. She was buried close to her mother. A jDlain 
monvunent was raised on the tomb of the mother and 
daughter. Peace and rest be with their ashes ! 

NARRATIVES FROM ZOOLOGy. 

1. The linnet. " Do you like to know, my dear child, 
who was singing in the hedge, so merrily ? It was I, the 
little linnet. To be sure, I am a poor little bird ! Some- 
times rats, sometimes wicked boys rob and kill my young 
ones. Therefore, when they approach my nest, I cry, 
Ga! Ga! Ga.! I stuff my little nest with moss and 



Moral Culture. 299 

horse-hair, and I build it in the midst of hedges in order 
to protect my young ones. Pray, dear boy, don't hiy 
snares for me ! I hke hberty as well as you. Then I 
will, dancing in the air, sing you merry songs. Besides 
you owe mo many a cherry, for I catch the caterpillars 
which gnaw the blossoms. Moreover, I am not pretty, 
anyhow, you would not be pleased with my ash-colored 
dress. For those reasons, let me sing, undisturbed, my 
harmless song ! [jioaring vj)] Ts, ts, ts ! " 

2. The sivan. " To be sure, I resemble the goose, l^ut 
ray neck is longer than hers, and my bill is black. If 
I am swimming in the lake, you admire me. In winter 
I migrate to warmer countries; then the tones of my 
voice resound high in the air, like the chime of bolls. 
Some of my relations cannot sing ; these have a red bill 
and a gray plumage." 

3. The humming-birfh. " We are the smallest of all 
birds, but the prettiest, too ; therefore ladiei^ and maidens 
carry us for ornament as pendants in their ears. We 
live on the sweet honey of flowers, fly as fast as an arrow, 
and lay two little eggs, each as large as a pea." 

4. The eagle and the turtle. Once an eagle wanted 
to eat a turtle. The turtle shut her stone house, and 
was safe ; but the eagle seized her with his strong talons, 
carried her up to the sun, and let her tumble down upon 
a rock. There the turtle lay smashed by the deep fall, 
and the eagle took his repast. 

5. The hen. A hen had many chickens, which she 
led about in the garden. Once Turk, the house dog, 
arrived, and wanted to run through the midst of the 
flock. The hen attacked him, and Turk took to flight. 
But soon another enemy made his appearance — the fal- 



300 The Educating Mother. 

coil. The hen summoned quickly the young ones, cluck- 
ing; they came running, and were covered under her 
wings ; then they were safe and secure. 

A good, gentle child listens willingly and fast to the 
word of the mother, and obeys her like those dear little 
chickens. When the hen clucks, they come running, 
the dear little chickens. 

6. The jdrjeons. " We comprise a large family. This 
one, with the black spotted neck, is the softly cooing 
turtle-dove. That, with the black collar, is the merry 
laughter-pigeon. Here is the little si^arrow-pigeon, there, 
the large crown-dove, our aunt from Africa. Here the 
carrier-pigeon just arrives from a journey to Liege, where 
she carried a letter of her master. The flight took her 
only one hour, though Liege is twelve hours far from us." 

7. The qnder. The father caught a spider, and put 
her on a little hill of clay which he had raised in the 
midst of a large dish, and surrounded with water. The 
children Avere eager to learn what now should happen. 
The spider would first run off from the hill, but as she 
arrived at the water she saw that she was taken prisoner. 
Now she blew up herself, drew a long thread from th* 
wart of her belly, and threw it over the water to the 
edge of the dish, where it adhered. After having built, 
in this way, a temporary bridge, she passed easily over 
it, and was released. The father let her depart ; but the 
children exclaimed, amazed, "What wonderful forces 
nature gives to her creatures ! " 



ERRATA. 



Pago 09, line 12 trom above, instead of "me" read "my." 
Page 74, linjs 7 and 12 from above, instead of "Renter" read 
'Keuter." 

Page 87, line 7 from below, instead of "abilites" read "abili- 
ties." 

Page 95, line 10 from below, instead of "emperior" read "em- 
peror." 

Page 104, line IS from above, instead of "elevar" read "Clever." 
Page 107, line 5 from above, instead of "Moment" read "Mon- 
ument." 

Page 1 12, line 15 from above, "exit" should follow line 14 in- 
stead of line 15. 

Page 119, line 12 from below, instead of "pori" read "pork." 

Page 1.32, line 8 from below, instead of "is" read "are." 

Page 1(55, line 14 from above, instead nf "Kindergiertens' read 

"Kindergairten;" also on p. 1(36, line 6 from below; p. I(i7, last 

line; p. 172, line 5 from below; p. 173, line 6 from below, and 

p. 192, line G from above. 

Page 105, line 17 from above, instead of "KindergEerten'' read 
"Kindergarten;" the same way on p. 60, line 2 from below; p. 
172, line 10 from above, line 2 from below, and p. 173, line 13 
from below. 

Page 188, foot-note, instead of "Fenelon" read "Fenelon. " 
Page 203, line 3 from above, instead of '"days" I'eatl ' plays." 
Page 203, line 8 from below, instead of "Helois6" read 
"H(5loise." 

Page 203. line i from bslow, insteal of "Don Qui.xote" read 
"Don Quijote." 

Page 205, line 3 from above, instca 1 of "cnpimixqu?'' read "cnp- 
imus'/ue." 



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